


The Spirit and the Letter

by titC



Series: Lucy [8]
Category: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Past canon Matt Murdock/Elektra Natchios, check the notes for more (spoilery) warnings, faith-related angst, many cameos - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-28
Updated: 2020-05-28
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:48:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24236053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/titC/pseuds/titC
Summary: Something is eating at Matt, and Frank worries.Also: epic fights, crises of faith, a good dog, fixing things (and hearts), Danny is a Good Bro...
Relationships: Frank Castle/Matt Murdock
Series: Lucy [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1225010
Comments: 28
Kudos: 107
Collections: Bad Things Happen Bingo, Fratt Week, Marvel Fluff Bingo





	The Spirit and the Letter

**Author's Note:**

> For my BadThingsBingo prompt _doesn’t realize they’ve been injured_ (more like doesn't want to realize they've been injured ;-) and MarvelFluffBingo prompt _snuggling in bed_.
> 
> Fills FrattWeek's prompt _faith_.
> 
> Big thanks to [PixelByPixel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pixelbypixel), comma wrangler extraordinaire.
> 
> It's probably better to have read the previous instalments to understand referenced events, the relationships, and an OC or two.

“Lucy, no.” She ignored Frank and kept bringing him toys, but he wasn’t having any of it. There was a small leak in the toilet bowl, and it was keeping Matt up at night. Or maybe it was something else, but there was a leak and it was something that Frank could fix and so help him God (or whoever) he’d get it fixed.

Maybe then Red would sleep better.

The seal was old, and the flushing system wasn’t looking too good either. A trip to the shop it was, then. He had to be at the shelter this afternoon, but that left him plenty of time to finish his job here, take Lucy to Nelson’s Meats, and maybe have a chat with Sister Maggie. As long as he avoided Fran next door, of course. She was dead set on introducing him to her newly-divorced daughter and refused to admit that, no, Frank (well, Pete, to her) was absolutely not available and wasn’t planning to be. He wasn’t even sure she understood the actual reason why he was so often at Matt’s, anyway.

It took him an hour of swearing at the fiddly, fancy mechanism he’d bought before it was properly adjusted to the antique pipes in the apartment, but he did it. He turned on the water supply and watched the tank fill quickly. That had been easy, after all. Easier than some other things.

Lucy jumped to her feet when he took her leash from the hook, and he petted her for a minute in the quiet apartment before taking her outside. It was late enough in the morning that there would be more noises than she’d like: honking and yelling and brakes and trucks. She could cope better now; phones and kids shouting and cars driving past didn’t spook her as much as it all used to, but it still wasn’t comfortable for her. Usually she left with Matt, and when she was in seeing eye mode it was easier for her to focus on her job, but these days… these days, she didn’t get many opportunities to guide Matt around.

Karen was the only one up there in their little temporary office.

“They’re in court,” she said after greeting Lucy and shoving a coffee in Frank’s hands. Not that he’d asked, but coffee was always welcome. She knew him well.

“Right.” He took a sip and remembered he shouldn’t drink _her_ coffee, ever. It had never been her strong suit, after all. “I’ll just leave Lucy with you, alright?”

“Sure. Or you can wait for Matt and Foggy to come back.”

“Nah, got work up at the shelter this afternoon.”

She eyed him suspiciously but let it go. She asked about how his get-Matt-to-swim scheme was going; he told her about their progress. He didn’t say anything about what was actually worrying him.

He kept that shit for Maggie, who never pretended she was above doctoring their coffee if the occasion warranted it. And, true to form, as soon as she saw him, she didn’t even give him time to ask if anything needed a few good whacks with a hammer. She led him down to the kitchen, started a fresh pot of coffee, and got a mostly full bottle of scotch out of a high cupboard.

“Speak,” she said. “What has he done that’s giving you white hairs?” Yeah, the good Sister wasn’t the kind to beat around the bush.

“Nothing.” And he didn’t have white hairs.

“Frank.”

“I don’t know, exactly. Thought maybe you’d noticed.”

She poured scotch and coffee in two mugs and sat in front of him. “He’s started going to confession again.”

“I thought he hadn’t stopped.”

“Since Paul, Father Lantom, died…” She looked away. “I know he never stopped going to Mass, but he avoided Clinton Church for months after it happened. He told me he hadn’t gone to confession or taken communion since then, either, but I urged him to give our new priest a try.”

“He good?”

“He… Well. It’s hard. Matt had known Paul all his life, even if he kept away from us for a few years. And Paul knew him – who he was, what he did. He didn’t judge.”

“And the new one?”

“Father MacMahon… hm. He listens well, but I don’t think Matt is telling him everything.”

“He can’t.”

“No, you’re right. He probably can’t.” Maggie’s lips thinned. “Father MacMahon is… eager. Earnest. But he doesn't have Paul’s experience. He means well, but he forgets life, real life, isn’t easy to put into neat little boxes. There’s what the Bible says; there’s what the Pope says. And then there’s people.”

“You don’t like him.”

“I miss Paul, too.” She poured a bit more scotch in her coffee. “Father MacMahon does good; he really does. Very intent on improving the life of the community, on helping the poor. He’s revived local charities, he’s found a regular, wealthy donor somehow, and now we can get some of our kids to schools that fit their needs. He doesn’t come to St. Agnes as often as Paul did; Matt had never even met him before he started going back to Mass at Clinton Church. But he’s very active in the larger community, and I can’t fault him.”

“But he’s not good for Matt.”

She didn’t contradict him.

Back at the shelter, Frank busied himself in the kennels. Cleaning the yard, fixing a door, helping Carlie fill out paperwork, feeding the litter of puppies they’d rescued the week before while Naye examined their mother. All the while he waited for his phone to buzz, but it didn’t.

Until it did right as he was looking at the contents of his fridge and pondering dinner.

“Hey, Frank, it’s Foggy.”

“Anything happened?”

“Oh, um, no.” Nelson cleared his throat. “You know Danny, right? He’s a friend of Matt’s.”

“The Rand guy? Skinny, looks like a hobo, weird glowy hands?”

“That’s him. He dropped by the office today while Matt was in court and, uh.”

“Spit it out, then.”

“Right.” Nelson sighed. “Did you know Elektra is back?”

Frank closed the fridge door and sat on a kitchen stool. “I know of her. Thought she was dead.” As far as anyone could tell, at least.

“Yeah, well. Apparently not. Danny said she reappeared a few weeks ago while he and Matt were doing their thing near the docks. You really didn’t know?”

“No.”

“Damn.” Frank agreed. “So she’s back and she’s apparently… better? Not dead and not trying to kill everyone, at any rate, so I guess that’s progress. And Matt actually tried to fight Danny when he made to Iron Fist her back from whence she came. They’ve got history, you know? She’s been joining Matt at night from time to time since then.”

“Fuck.”

“Yes. But Danny said they weren’t making out or anything, it’s just… What is she after? She’s dangerous, Frank. Really dangerous, even if she seems to be as sane as she used to be. Which wasn’t very sane to begin with.”

“Do you have that guy’s number?”

“I’ll text it to you. Frank, I’m worried; she always dragged him into some deep, deep shit before, and if I try talking about it he’ll just clam up.”

“I’ll look into it.”

Nelson thanked him before hanging up, but Frank’s mind was already running. He remembered when she’d died on that rooftop; he’d seen how Matt had cradled her body. And he knew the bare bones of what had happened under that building, right before it had collapsed over them. Red loved her, and if she was alive after all… no wonder he’d been acting strange.

 _Goddammit_.

He drove back to Hell’s Kitchen that evening, and since Matt was already out and about he first took Lucy on a walk. A long one, meandering in alleys and going near the water and keeping an eye on the roofs. He didn’t see or hear anything strange, and he got back to the apartment after an hour. What should he do? Go back out on his own, wait for Matt to come back? Should he ask him outright about her? Just as he was putting his jacket back on, the roof access door opened.

“I thought you’d be at the shelter tonight.”

“I came back.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Matt came down the stairs and took his helmet off, more or less ignoring Frank and Lucy as he tended to do when something was bothering him.

Frank crossed his arms. “Anything wrong?”

The dark red gloves came off, then he attacked his boots. “No, nothing.”

“Red.”

“Nothing’s wrong.” Matt closed the chest where he’d put the suit and turned around. “It’s just…” He tilted his head. “You know, right? Someone told you.”

“What do you think I know?”

Matt’s mouth moved silently. For once, Frank wondered what Red’s heart sounded like. He wondered if he’d be able to tell if he was lying. But no, Matt wouldn't lie outright. Not to him. Right? Finally, he spoke. “Elektra,” he said. “She’s alive. She’s back.”

“You didn’t tell me.”

“I just, I don’t know. I thought if I told anyone about her, she’d… disappear again. I don’t know.”

“Red.”

“I’m sorry.” Matt raised a hand, then let it fall again. Frank tried not to feel anything as he watched Matt’s sightless eyes, how they tried to track him and never _quite_ managed it. “I’m not cheating on you.”

“I’m not sharing.”

“I know. I just – I never thought… she’d died, and then she – she couldn't have survived it. Not again. And now she’s back.” Matt shook his head and sat heavily on the chest. Lucy finally approached him to rest her chin on his knee, and he patted her absently.

“You survived it.” Red only shrugged. He’d never really talked about what had happened under Midland Circle and how he’d gotten out, and Frank suspected he didn’t even know. “Were you with her tonight?”

“Most nights.” _Dammit, Red_. “There’s a bunch of people she’s after; she’s always been big on revenge.”

“And you’re helping her?”

“She’s helping me too. She’s hunting what’s left of the Hand, and we found a few of my own targets are… Frank, they’re importing _people_ like cattle, like goods, and the Hand has always been very good at that. There’s a link, right there. Do you remember the client we took on last month, the one who escaped her employers?”

“Yeah.” She’d been kept sequestered by her employers – owners, really – and used as a house slave. “There are others?”

“A lot of others. Undocumented people. Those traffickers recruit abroad and then place them here with families who want a cheap nanny, an in-house prostitute, or, in a few cases, a child. They buy children, Frank. Children.”

Fuck. Frank walked closer to Matt until he was standing right in front of him. “Why didn’t you tell me?” He started running his fingers through Red’s hair, through the clumps they’d turned into under his helmet. “I could help.”

Matt’s forehead came to rest on Frank’s stomach, and he sighed. “I was afraid.”

“Afraid of what? I’m not going to shoot kids, Red.”

“I know.”

“Would she?”

“She’s not afraid of death.”

“Of dying, or of killing?”

“Both. Either.”

Frank wanted to ask so many questions, but he wasn’t sure he’d like the answers. He wasn’t sure Matt _had_ the answers, anyway. “Want to go to bed?”

Matt nodded and stood up. “I’ll just, uh.” He waved a hand, then went to lock himself in the bathroom. That was new, too. The locking.

When he got out, his hair still damp from a quick shower, Frank was already reading in bed. He wasn’t really paying attention to the words anyway, so he put his book aside when Matt joined him. “Read on,” he said. “It’s not like the light’s bothering me.”

 _Hah. Funny, Red._ Frank kept pretending to read, but watched instead. Even Lucy stayed at the foot of the bed. She must have been sensing that peace would not be had _on_ the bed for a while yet.

Matt took the book on his own bedside table and started running his fingers on the Braille there. It was from the New Testament; Frank recognized it, but he couldn’t guess which part. And it didn’t seem to soothe Matt at all. Reading the Bible usually seemed to bring him peace, at least out of familiarity, but not tonight. Frank watched him for a while, watched the little frown on his face, then got fed up.

“It’s late,” he said as he took the book out of Matt’s hands. He slipped his own bookmark between the pages before closing it and putting it back on Matt’s bedside table. He’d check it out in the morning. “You should sleep.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” And then Red proceeded to curl on his side of the bed, his back to Frank, as far away as he could without outright leaving the bed. He’d been doing that lately but generally migrated back towards Frank in the night. At first, Frank had thought it was the weather. It was getting warmer, and maybe Matt didn’t like that. But even when the temperatures dropped again the week before, it had been the same.

Frank reached out and put his palm flat on Red’s lower back, right where he knew it still hurt sometimes. Matt shuddered but didn’t shake him off, so Frank dug in a bit, dragged his hand up along the spine then down to the side, keeping pressure all the while. He stopped on the dip of his waist.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” Frank said low and quiet. Matt wasn’t breathing. He was tense and silent and waiting, but he didn’t tell him to stop. “Okay.” Frank slid his hand down to Matt’s stomach, pulled him in a little, and shuffled forward so his chest was flush with Red’s back. “Still good?” Matt tangled his fingers between Frank’s, which probably meant yes.

“Can we just,” he whispered in the dark. “Can we just stay like this?”

What else could they be doing? Oh. Oh, _that_. “It’s late, Red. Just sleep, yeah.”

“Kay.” Matt squeezed his fingers a little. “Thank you,” he added, so low it was hardly audible. Frank wasn’t sure what Matt was thanking him for, and he didn’t want to think too much about it. But after that Matt seemed to relax and fell asleep rather quickly, and it felt like a tiny win at least.

They didn’t move during the night. Frank woke up with his arm still around Matt, their fingers still tangled. Matt was awake already, but he wasn’t trying to get up.

“Hey,” Frank said. “You been awake long?”

“Don’t think so.” Matt started to pull his hand away then changed his mind. “What time is it?”

Frank looked back at the clock on his side. “Eight-thirty.”

“Oh.” Matt didn’t move. “Do you have to leave soon?”

“No, I’m good. You?”

“A client’s made an appointment for today at ten.”

“No hurry, then.”

“No.” Matt sounded so awkward, so stilted, and at the same time he radiated _hold me just a little longer_.

“You hungry, Red?”

He shook his head. “Frank,” he said.

“Yeah.”

“I miss you when you’re not here.”

“That why you avoid me?” Matt pushed Frank’s hand harder against his chest, but he didn’t speak. “Something’s eating at you.”

Red finally turned around to face him and slipped his hands under Frank’s sleep-warm shirt. “I got the Devil in me, Frank.”

“Yeah?” It was a start, right? Acknowledging something was bothering him. Now, if only he said anything useful that Frank could work with, help with.

Matt was now trying to get his own shirt off. “Make me forget? Please.” And that last word made Frank cave in. It had been a long time, and he’d asked, and Frank was only human.

Once Matt had left for work, Lucy by his side, Frank went back into the bedroom. The Braille Bible was taunting him from Matt’s bedside table, daring him to open it and see what troubled him so much. But Frank was no coward, and he sat on the bed and picked up the book. He thumbed through it until he found his bookmark and searched for where he’d seen Matt’s fingers last. Midway down the page on the right, he remembered. He frowned and looked for what book this was in, what verses. He could decipher Braille now, but finding the verses and then looking them up on his phone would be faster. Ah, _Corinthians 6:9_ and following.

_Or do you not know that wrongdoers will not inherit the kingdom of God? Do not be deceived: Neither the sexually immoral nor idolaters nor adulterers nor men who have sex with mennor thieves nor the greedy nor drunkards nor slanderers nor swindlers will inherit the kingdom of God.And that is what some of you were. But you were washed, you were sanctified, you were justified in the name of the Lord Jesus Christ and by the Spirit of our God._

Fuck, what?

Frank poked at his phone some more and ended up with an education. Not one he’d wanted to have, really. Matt was reading about how their, their _thing_ was cutting him off from God and Heaven. Because they were having sex, and that meant – shit. _I got the Devil in me_ , he’d said. It wasn’t that he didn’t want Frank, it was what it meant to want another man.

And all this while his old flame was back. His _one big love_ , Mahoney had called her. A woman who’d clawed her way back from death twice and had tried to be better, do better right before she’d been run through by a sword. That’s what Matt had said, the one time he’d talked about her. Now, she was redemption, and Frank was his damnation.

Before going back to the shelter for the afternoon, Frank made a detour by the church. He wanted to see this new priest with his own eyes, get a feel for the man. See if this newfound religious crisis had anything to do with that MacMahon.

It was late morning, but not late enough that people would come for some quiet contemplation during their lunch break. The church was empty and Frank went to sit on the left side near the confessional. He waited and, sure enough, the priest came out from his sacristy after a few minutes. He looked youngish, but he was already balding.

He fiddled with some candles, went in the confessional to move some books around from the sound of it, and generally made himself obnoxiously available without coming out with it outright. Frank was already pissed off, but he swallowed it down. He was here for a reason. He was here to scope out a potential enemy.

“Father,” he said.

The padre hurried to him. “Son. You are welcome in the house of God. What can we help you with?”

Frank scratched his beard to give his hand something innocuous to do. “Haven’t been in a church in ages.”

“Ah. I understand Father Lantom’s sudden death left many souls in the dark.”

“He was a good man.” Or he must have been. He’d been mostly good to Matt, at least.

“He was. I will strive to honor his memory in my work here.” MacMahon sat in front of him, his spindly fingers spreading over the wooden back between them. “Is anything on your mind, son?”

“Francis. Name’s Francis.” More beard scratching. Frank felt self-conscious; he hadn’t been in a church in such a long time and the circumstances – yeah. He’d been with Maria, and it had been Lisa’s First Communion. He’d thought next time he’d set foot in one, it would be because of Red. _With_ Red. “Father,” he said.

“I’m listening.”

“I, uh. I was married, once. My wife, uh. She died.”

“I am sorry to hear that, Francis. She will be in my prayers and so will you.”

“Yeah, uh. Thanks. She’d appreciate that.” And it was true. He, on the other hand, didn’t give a fuck. “It’s been years now, and I still…” He shook his head. He wasn’t here for that, although establishing his straight cred was part of the plan. But he’d forgotten how some things could come up so quickly to the surface, sometimes. “There’s someone else, now.”

“That’s good. God never intended us to be alone. Are you planning to propose to her? Or maybe you already have?”

“Him.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Him. That’s why I’ve come, Father. It’s a man, and it’s – what we have, it’s good. But the Church says, uh. The Church doesn’t like that.”

The priest didn’t say anything for a moment. Frank had taken him by surprise. “The Church is made of men, Francis. And women, of course. This is not a law of man, it’s a law of God.”

“What should I do, Father?” _Remember why you’re here_ , Frank thought. Pretending he wanted the priest’s advice made his mouth taste sour.

“You’ve come to the right place. You know what you’re doing is a sin, and you know you need help. You’re confused _and_ maybe scared of losing another wife, but you have to let go of that fear and put your faith in God.” MacMahon patted Frank’s hand, and it took a lot not to break it and make him eat back his words along with some of his own teeth. “You’re not the only parishioner who’s come to me for that same trouble, and I’m glad you’re all turning to us for help. Come with me, Francis; we can discuss what the Bible says about this.”

“I’m sorry, Father, I can’t stay much today. Work. You know how it is.”

“Of course. Well, I’ll just give you some leaflets as a starter, and we can talk about it later, what do you say?”

“Sure, yeah. That’ll help.” Frank was careful to strip any hint of irony from his voice.

“That’s what we’re here for.” And the priest’s tone and face and everything were so grating Frank’s fists itched something fierce. He apparently had stocks of his bullshit pamphlets in the confessional, because he darted in and out and handed him a bunch of them. “Many parishioners are struggling with these feelings, my son. But they can be erased, and you can go back to a righteous path. God’s waiting for us at the end of it.”

“Amen.” And Frank worked hard at keeping his face and voice civil and pleasant.

He rushed out after that; one more minute and he’d have slammed the asshole into a pillar. Pamphlets tucked in his jacket, he drove back to the shelter and dumped them on the bed before taking care of his job there. The work would ground him: something to do that would take his mind off of what he wanted to do to that smarmy, ingratiating, fucking homophobic priest that was warping Red’s mind.

He took a break mid-afternoon and took care to dodge Carlie, who had clearly seen his mood and was trying to pin him down for a chat. Once back in his apartment, he made himself a pot of strong coffee and started reading. There was a lot of shit. Words like _temptation_ , _devil_ , _abomination_ , _sin;_ some retreat to a teen prayer camp that was a thinly disguised _pray the gay away or we’ll beat it out of you_ camp; analyses of some verses that promised death and eternal damnation.

Part of Frank couldn't believe Matt was suddenly listening to that kind of bull, but then again he was trying to follow his faith. Going back to confession, listening to the priest, being a good little Catholic. Doing what his mom advised, and his mom was a nun. Red was conflicted about it, given last night and this morning. He didn’t want to give up his beloved Church and he didn’t want to give up Frank, but it was one or the other if he listened to that priest. And listening to priests was ingrained in him, too. Following blindly (hah) wasn’t, but simply seeding doubt would be enough; he’d always come back to the Church, even if he’d drifted away from it at times.

Ah, shit. But at least Frank knew what he was up against now.

Frank went back to Hell’s Kitchen that evening. He wasn’t sure what he could do, but he wanted to remind Matt of what they had. He wasn’t ready to give it up. It was a good thing, and Frank wasn’t about to let a bigot take it away. He’d fight to keep it.

Lucy joined him on the couch when he settled in with Matt’s laptop, and he started looking up more info about that priest. Where did he come from? Who were his pals; what did his former parishioners say about him?

There was nothing. Well, there was _something_ , just enough that it wouldn't be suspicious, but it was as bland and uninformative as could be. Just as he was thinking to stop digging, Lucy jumped down from the couch and the roof access door opened.

“Hey, Frank.” Matt sounded tired but unsurprised. “Hey, girl.” Lucy got a more enthusiastic greeting than Frank did, which didn’t rankle at all.

But Red wasn’t alone. _She_ came in and closed the door, clearly familiar with the place – and the dog, too. Lucy knew and _liked_ Elektra, from the way her tail wagged and she asked for pets. Matt sat on the stairs and seemed to be ready to spend the night there, but Frank ignored him for now and focused on Elektra.

“What are you doing here?”

“Hello, Frank. Pleasure to finally meet you.” Her smile had too many teeth, and Frank showed his in answer. She ignored him and nudged Matt’s hip with her foot. “Ooh, he’s angry at me, I think. Maybe at you, too.”

“ _What are you doing here?_ ” He had some guns here that Matt kept pretending he didn’t know about, but they were unloaded and dismantled at the moment. He wanted to shoot her, but he also wanted answers.

“Bringing Matthew back in one piece. You’re welcome, by the way.”

Frank’s eyes jumped to the idiot on the stairs. In one piece? “You hurt, Red?” Matt only shook his head.

Elektra sighed. “Figure of speech. He’s been sloppy, lately.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re working too hard.” She crouched next to him and took his helmet off and Frank seethed, but he didn’t move any closer. He feared what he might do if he did.

But she wasn’t wrong, Matt had been working longer hours than usual and staying out later at night, too. When the helmet came off, all Frank could see was how purple the skin under his eyes was.

“He was doing fine before you came back.”

“Was he?”

“I’m right here,” Matt said.

“He’s fine.” Frank didn’t trust himself to make longer sentences than that.

“He better be; I need him.” Oh, she did, uh? Frank’s trigger finger was itching. “I’m not letting anyone else be used like I – ” Her voice cut off abruptly. “I’ll see you at 11, Matthew.” She kissed Red’s cheek and left through the roof door, her feet quick and light.

Frank took a few deep breaths. “Red.”

“Yeah.” His voice was muffled against his arms.

 _Look at me when we’re talking_ , Frank wanted to say. But he couldn't. He settled for, “The hell?”

“I didn’t think you’d be back tonight.”

“Do you bring her here often?” Matt shook his head. “Lucy knows her. How many times?”

A shrug. “Three, four times?”

“You’ve brought her here four times without telling me.”

“It’s my place.”

“She’s your ex.”

“Yeah.”

“Did you…” _Did you fuck?_ In the bed, on the couch… “I’m not sharing.”

“I know. We’re not – we haven’t, Frank. It’s not like that. Not anymore.”

“You love her.” And it burned his mouth to say it, but he had to.

Matt sighed and raised his head. “Maria,” he only said.

There was a silence. A long, heavy silence that Lucy finally broke with a pained whine. The tension in the air was scaring her.

“What did you say?”

“You know what I said.”

“My wife is dead.”

“What if she came back? Her and Lisa and Frank Jr?”

Frank found himself down in the street without remembering how he got there. He was furious, absolutely furious. How could he compare – they were dead anyway; he watched them die and he could do nothing, nothing. He’d give anything to have them back, and Red knew it. And that girl, lording it over Frank, pawing at Matt and kissing him… He should have taken a gun or two, should have put on the skull and gone after some lowlifes. Would have put his anger and bullets in some good targets, at least.

But after a while, Frank slowed down. He knew Red wasn’t lying; he’d seen his face. And he was right, too: if Maria and the kids came back… he didn’t know what he’d do. Of course, he still loved his wife. He always would. Red would always love his girl, too. Even if they chose another path now, you couldn’t forget that. It didn’t mean…

Frank turned around.

He didn’t know what it meant or didn’t mean, but Red was an idiot and an asshole but he was _Frank’s_ idiot asshole, and he was alive. Shit, he was alive.

“Hey,” Frank said as he came back in the apartment.

“You’re back.”

Okay, he couldn’t blame Matt for sounding so surprised. “Yeah.” Frank knelt to scratch under Lucy’s chin. “It’s late, you should be sleeping.” Not working on the computer, with a couple files open on the coffee table and the couch.

“I’m…”

“Don’t say it. She was right; you look exhausted.”

“No, I meant, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said what I said.”

“Yeah, well.” Frank sat on the other end of the couch. “I know you’re not… Wish you’d told me, but…” But he got it. He hated it, but he got it.

“We’re really trying to do some good, Frank.”

“Yeah. You need help?”

“I, uh. Not for now.” Matt fiddled with the thick fabric of his sweatshirt. “Thank you.”

“Sure.” Frank stood up and took the laptop away. “Let’s go to bed, yeah?”

“I’m working.”

“You got bags the size of my duffel on your face, Red. Get some shuteye, or you’ll be useless tomorrow.”

“Aw, way to bolster my confidence.” Frank liked that small, lopsided smile; he hadn’t seen it in a while. He’d missed it. Matt made a neat little pile of his folders and set them on the closed laptop, a cute, little frown on his face.

“Hard case?”

“Another victim of this human trafficking ring. It’s connected to something bigger; there’s the Hand, but there’s more too. But I can’t…”

“All right. Tomorrow, Red.”

Frank steered him with a hand on his back to make sure Matt didn’t try to grab his laptop to work in bed and ignored how the muscles along Red’s spine tensed the second they touched. Soon enough Matt was lying on his side, his back to Frank. As far as he could from him without leaving the bed.

“I won’t touch you if you don’t want me to,” Frank said.

Matt shuddered. “I want you to.”

“Come here, then.”

“I can’t. I shouldn’t.”

“You… can’t?” Frank sat up. “It’s that priest, right? The new one.”

“Frank, please…”

“Do you want me to leave?”

“No.”

“Want me to sleep on the couch?”

“No.”

“So you just don’t want to want me.”

Red finally rolled onto his back. “If I do God’s will, maybe…”

“Maybe what? Maybe you’ll get to heaven?”

“No! Just, maybe I'll save more people, maybe I can do real good. Maybe I can be better.”

 _Fuck, Red. Better than now? What’s wrong with now?_ “God doesn’t give a shit who you sleep with.”

“Are you sure, Frank?” Mat rolled back to his side. “Good night,” he said.

It took a long time for Lucy to join them on the bed, but when she finally did she settled between them. Matt wasn’t sleeping; Frank could hear the soft click of the rosary’s wooden beads. Idiot was planning to spend the night praying for a hint, guidance he’d never find. God didn’t work that way, as Frank knew very well.

Sleep came eventually, late into the night. Frank woke up with his nose in Matt’s hair, like so many nights lately. As soon as he dropped off, Red gravitated toward him. His heartbeat, Matt used to say. _Like a lullaby_. Frank didn’t complain, even when the hair tickled his nose. He slept better like that, too. Less nightmares, less waking up in a cold sweat with his arms empty, empty, empty. Matt had seeped into those cracks Maria and the kids had left behind them. Now, Frank wasn’t crumbling anymore, except now it was Matt who was slipping between his fingers. Frank tightened his grip around Matt’s waist and – shit. With mornings came other things that his damn priest would disapprove of.

“Morning,” Red said.

“Morning.”

Frank waited for Matt to move away but he didn’t; Red’s back was right against Frank’s chest and they could feel each other’s breaths. In, out; in, out.

“You, uh.” Matt shifted his hips just enough that Frank had to grit his teeth to keep quiet. “Sorry. Uh, me too.”

Lucy jumped off the bed, and neither Matt nor Frank reacted.

“I didn’t sleep with Elektra, and I’m not going to.”

“I know.”

“I just…” Matt’s fingers tangled with Frank’s right over his navel. “I don’t know what to do. What to believe. Father Lantom…” He sighed. “He knew about me; he knew everything. You’d have liked him, I think.”

“I don’t like the new one.”

“You met him?”

“Went to your church yesterday. He gave me a bunch of brochures. They’re bullshit, Red.”

“But it’s written; it’s in the New Testament even. I’ve ignored it; I’ve picked and chosen what I liked, and that’s not how it works. I pushed God away before, and I can’t do that again.”

Frank raised himself on an elbow to stare down at Matt’s pinched face. “And yet, here you still are.”

“I…” He didn’t need to say it. It was there, plain as day on his face: he was lost and he was torn.

He believed God didn’t want him to sleep right next to Frank, even if they didn't fuck. And Matt, of course… Matt couldn’t stay away and he couldn’t stay as close as he wanted. He probably still had Marci’s words still echoing in his head: because yes, Frank was a killer, and yes, Matt was a very Catholic lawyer. Among other things. Something had to give, and right now it looked like it was Red’s sanity.

This MacMahon had poisoned him.

The next few days were more of the same: Matt spending his day working, then most of the night chasing human traffickers with his ex. Frank tried to track them, but they were _good_. He was pretty sure Red could spot him from far enough away he could evade Frank without breaking a sweat. Still, now that Matt talked a little bit more, it was easier to put things together.

This trafficking ring was well-organized, and the human shipments – Frank felt a surge of rage every time he thought of that – never arrived at the same dock, in the same hands. And, of course, Red kept doing his usual Kitchen cleaning on top of the work he was doing with his… with Elektra. Matt’s lawyering and Daredeviling had not gotten him enough information to find out the root of this shit, but Frank had other resources, ones the ninja twins didn’t have.

Frank picked up his phone and braced for a good amount of teasing, complaining he’d been a stranger too long, and demands he come visit right away, and called David.

Two days later David called him back. So that night, Frank waited for Matt on the roof of his building; as he’d expected, he wasn’t alone when he got back.

“Do you always look so grumpy?” Elektra asked.

Frank frowned. He didn’t look grumpy. “I got intel,” he said.

“Oh, nice. Matthew, will you invite me in? I doubt Grumpy here will.”

“I’m not – ” Frank sighed. “Do you want to hear it or not?”

“Let’s go in, then,” but Red sounded more tired than interested in what Frank had learned.

“Aw, that’s not a proper invitation.”

She was _annoying_. “What, you a vampire or something?”

“Well, I did die…”

“Please stop.” Matt strode for the rooftop access door and left it open after going in.

“He’s tired,” Frank said. “Doing too much. He can’t hold a full-time job and then go out with you every night.” He looked out over the buildings; dawn wasn’t that far off. Matt was going to leave for work in a few hours, his glasses not doing a lot to hide his exhaustion. He was trying to juggle too much, and since it meant avoiding Frank, he wasn’t going to stop.

“It’s his choice if he’s overextending. It’s always been his flaw, really; he’s thought he could handle everything. But I’m not going to tell him what to do.”

“Maybe he’d listen.”

She smiled. It wasn't a pleasant smile. “Pretty sure he’s listening now.”

Yeah, well. He’d better. (But he wouldn’t.)

Inside the apartment, the warmth seemed to have thawed Matt a little; he was sideways on a chair with his head thrown back over an armrest and his helmet on his stomach, one hand scratching a blissed-out Lucy. His hair was a mess, as it always was. Frank caught Elektra’s smile softening when her eyes fell on it, and he looked away and pointedly didn’t think of the priest who preached men who had sex with men would be damned. Not that there had been that much sex lately, damn that guy.

“What did you learn, then?” Matt asked.

Right. “Called David,” he said. “He found something.”

Elektra straightened from her crouch near the liquor cabinet, bottle in hand. “David?”

Matt’s head turned in Frank’s direction. “How is he? And Sarah, the kids?”

“He’s good at computer stuff,” Frank answered her. “They’re fine, and he said we should come next weekend. Sarah’s probably going to rip us a new one.”

“Matthew!” Elektra was now hunting for glasses in the kitchen as if she owned the place. “Is that what you’re doing these days? Going to dinner with friends, putting some gray hairs in your darling Grumpy’s beard, and taking your pet to the park like good dog dads? How domestic.”

“Nothing wrong with it.” Frank took the glass she held out for him and put it down on the table without drinking. Lucy came to sniff at it before curling at his feet. “He found out that the cases you’ve worked are linked to some people who are all affiliated to a bunch of companies that, once you follow the threads, go back to Fisk. It’s all heavily shielded, but he could get around their security measures, and… Fisk. Not directly, but he’s the one behind it.”

“I’ll kill him,” Matt said.

“You’ll do nothing of the sort.” Elektra downed her own booze and thunked her glass down on the kitchen counter. “This is not you, and it will never be; do you hear me? Me, or Grumpy over there – we’re fine with it. You… we won’t let you.”

“We need to find him, first. Then I’ll kill him.”

“ _You won’t_.” And for once, Frank agreed with Elektra’s words. “And finding him? Easy. Money calls to money; I’ll let it float around I’m interested in investing in… something.”

“You got money?” Frank asked.

“Don’t you worry about that. I’ll let you know what I get that way. And Matthew,” she added. “Take better care of yourself. You were leaving too many openings tonight, not keeping your guard up as you should have. This is not what we were taught, and you know better. I don’t want to have to rescue you when I have something else to do.”

“The body is the weapon; yeah, yeah, I remember.”

“Don’t just remember. I’ll be in touch,” and then she disappeared up the stairs.

“Fisk,” Red said. “I’ll…”

“Go to sleep, first. We’ll plan later.”

“You don’t have to…”

“ _We’ll plan later._ ”

Finally, Matt got up and shuffled to the bathroom, looking smaller than Frank remembered he ever had. But at least he’d get some sorely needed sleep tonight.

Frank tried to sleep too, but he found he couldn’t. Lying there, right next to Matt and yet not being able to touch him… well. He could touch him, sure. It was just he had to wait until Matt gravitated towards him as he slept; he didn’t want to force it. He was pretty sure Matt still wanted him; he never commented on the mornings he woke up all right up in Frank’s space, on Frank’s body. On the contrary: Frank could tell Red stayed there, awake and not getting up, pretending he was still sleeping, just because he wanted to. He wanted Frank; he wanted to hear and smell and touch him. And it was killing him, and it was killing Frank in turn to see what was happening.

So that night, once Matt had fallen asleep, Frank stared at the ceiling and listened to Matt’s slow breaths and Lucy’s quiet snuffling and decided he’d pay MacMahon another visit. But first, he’d do some investigating on that guy. He was creeping out Frank a bit, and there had to be a reason, right?

Down in the street below, a car honked, someone shouted. Matt’s hand twitched on his pillow as if it wanted to throw one of his batons, and he frowned a little.

“Shh,” Frank said. He wanted to touch him, soothe him; the City wouldn’t let Red be. It wanted him, needed him, demanded his blood; now a priest was also asking him to renounce what – who – he was happy with. They’d been happy before, right? Damn church, always claiming more sacrifices and pain and blood… saints and martyrs, right? So many martyrs, and what did it get them in the end? Suffering, and then death. Red had already given too much of himself to causes and people that didn’t know, and didn’t care.

The Church wouldn't have him, not if Frank could do anything about it.

He left the bed at first light and started gearing up.

He didn’t really want to be leaving the apartment; he’d left his sleep shirt on his pillow and the sight of a mostly-asleep Matt turning over, finding Frank’s side empty but immediately latching on the shirt as a consolation prize had almost made Frank stay. Could be him, instead of just his shirt. Except a fully-conscious Red wouldn’t do that, not anymore.

And Frank… he’d gotten used to it, used to spending more nights than not with hair up his nose and waking up when a dog walked all over them in the mornings. He wasn’t giving it up without a fight, and he _knew_ how to fight. He was good at it. He only took a gun and an extra magazine, out of habit. He didn’t expect to need them but better be prepared, yeah. Lucy’s claws clicked on the floor as she accompanied him to the door, but he only scratched her head and left her inside.

The air was cold outside and Frank wasn’t looking forward to the walk there, but he was hoping to see something while the church was still deserted, a clue of some sort. A clue to what, he couldn't say; the candles and statues weren’t going to tell him how to keep Matt’s sanity (more or less) intact. Why the Church was focusing on who people fucked he couldn’t guess; wasn’t there worse shit in the world? Killers, abusers, traffickers, weren’t they worse people? Frank walked inside the church, already open at this hour; he looked inside a glass case where a baton, stained dark with old blood, was preserved. There was a note under it: _Father Lantom was killed but his memory will remain with us_ , it read. Shit. Red used to have batons like those, before. Frank’s eyes focused on his own reflection in the glass. And there was another killer, he knew.

He was a murderer, and he had no remorse about the lives he’d taken. He knew why he’d done it, and he believed he’d been in the right. And yet, that wasn’t what was destroying Matt; it was…

“Francis,” an oily voice said. “You’re an early bird.”

Speak of the devil. “Father.” MacMahon didn’t deserve the title, and it stung Frank’s mouth to say it. “Figured I could come in before work.”

“Well of course; the house of God is always open.”

“Right.”

The priest gestured at a nearby pew and they sat, Frank doing his best to hide his actual thoughts that ran more along, well, _murder_ , than confession or repentance. “Did you read the brochures I gave you?”

“Yeah, I did.”

“What did you think?”

“They were… instructive.” There, not even a lie.

“Good, good.” MacMahon rubbed his hands together. “Would you care to join one of our meetings? People like you, who share your struggles, gather every Thursday night to talk about their experiences and pray for strength.”

“People like me?”

“People in need of guidance, whose lives have led them astray but who are trying to get back on the right path. Addicts, prostitutes, sodomites… we are here to help.” His mouth was dripping poison, Frank was sure of it.

“I’m not sure I’m ready, Father.”

“I see.” The priest lowered his voice a little more. “Is your… _friend_ still in your life?”

“Uh, we’re… there is more distance every day.” Still not a lie. “It’s not easy, Father.”

“Of course not, but God gives the hardest path to those he knows can walk it.” He rubbed his hands; the palms sounded dry, but Frank would have sworn they were sweaty, had to be, on an oily guy like him. “What about confession? Confession, communion; putting words on your sins to push them away better, cleanse your eternal soul of them. Forgiveness, son. It works wonders.”

“I don’t…”

“And then you can stay for the morning Mass, receive communion, seal your union with God again.“

“I’ll think about it, Father.”

“Well, you know where to find me.”

“Yeah.”

Silence fell between them, and Frank had no desire to break it. If MacMahon wanted to think he was praying, good for him.

Footsteps echoed behind them, and Frank glanced back to see a tall woman walk down the center aisle. She was holding her head high and her shoulders back, but there was something wrong about her, too. The priest nodded at Frank before standing up and joining her.

“Vanessa,” he said. “Such a pleasure.”

“Yes, it certainly is.”

“Come with me to the office; we can talk freely there.”

Frank watched them walk past him to a side door, and he finally recognized her. Vanessa, yes. But Vanessa _Fisk_. He had to listen in.

Maggie found him in the laundry room, trying to find a way to listen to the Fisk woman and the priest.

“Here to help me wash bedsheets, Frank?”

He absolutely didn’t jump. “Maggie. No, I, uh.”

She looked him up and down. “Come,” she said. “I don’t trust that woman either.”

Maggie led him through a couple corridors he’d never seen to a little storage room where he could barely fit in between the boxes, stepladders, pots of paint, and other odds and ends, then pointed up at cable and pipes running along the ceiling.

“Those lead into his office; if you get your ears near the hole they go through in the wall, you should be able to listen in.” He raised his eyebrows. “I imagine that’s why you’re here? I’m not stupid, Frank,” she added when he stared at her. “Go on then. I’ll expect a full report in the kitchen when they’re done.”

He nodded and she closed the door on him, leaving him in the dark. He forgot how wily she was, sometimes; maybe the sisters had to be, what with being in charge of so many kids. Frank used his phone to light his way and hoisted himself up near the pipes, and after moving his head around finally found the right spot where he could hear them.

“…suppliers?”

“Well, I thought they could store it in your church, or maybe the orphanage next door. No one would expect heroin there, and the church is open to any one, at any hour. No one would bat an eye to see my men come in for a quiet moment of contemplation, I’m sure.”

“Of course.”

There was a break in the conversation. Their voices were a bit distorted by echo, but they were clear enough. There was a clink of ceramic on ceramic, and Vanessa Fisk went on.

“I trust that won’t be a problem, then.” She paused, and he must have nodded because she moved on to something else. “Good. Now, our third point is about the girls. They’ll be here on Monday.”

“How many are there?”

“About twenty.”

“Vanessa, that’s too much. People would notice, and it would bring too many eyes on our community.”

“Are you saying you’re refusing to cooperate on this?”

“I…” A chair scraped loudly on wood.

Fisk had a reputation for ruthlessness, but his wife had clearly taken up the mantle, and she was good at it. It explained how he could still manipulate things from prison: it wasn’t just him. Half of the Fisk team was free, and making the most of it.

“No, wait; I have a solution.”

“I’m listening.”

“The diocese owns a few buildings here in New York, and I know of one that’s currently empty.”

“Where?”

“The Bronx.”

“Hm.”

“It’s close to the river, and I think the lower floors’ windows are boarded over.”

“And you can ensure this building will remain undisturbed for two weeks?”

“Yes.”

Frank heard some clicks, a spoon in a saucer or maybe nails on a cup.

“Send the address to Clark; he’ll manage the details.”

“I will.”

“Good. And finally,” she continued, “our last point of order. How is our so-called devil?”

“The mission is going well; I’ve put doubt in his mind and I can see it’s eating at him.”

“It’s been weeks, Douglas, and he’s still putting a crimp in our operations. Worse, he’s now acquired a partner. Has he revealed himself to you?”

“No, he’s only talking about his legal work. But he’s bound to misstep; I’ve made it clear his, ah, _perverse leanings_ would send him straight to Hell, and he’s very devout. He’s troubled, not sleeping… it’s going to happen.”

“His… perverse leanings?”

“He lies with men.”

Vanessa didn't say anything for a moment. “And that’s your angle? We want to make his identity public in a way that won’t be linked to the Fisk name, not have Daredevil go through a religious or sentimental crisis.”

“Once he’s troubled enough, he’ll confide in me more; then I can tell him to come clear to the world, to stop all his lies and face the consequences of his behavior. The Church says truth and repentance is the only way to get God’s forgiveness; he knows that.”

“Oh. So your plan is for him to come public himself?”

“Yes.”

“I like it, and I’m sure Wilson also will. But it’s taking time, Douglas. How far is he from the breaking point?”

“Very close.”

A chair creaked, and Frank heard heels on the floor. She was leaving, probably. “You have a week.”

Her footsteps went away, and Frank lowered himself back to the floor.

Goddammit.

He hurried to the kitchen, where Maggie had already got the liquor out.

“From your face, I’m thinking this isn’t good.”

“No.” Frank put his hands on the back of a chair but didn’t pull it out. “I can’t stay.”

“Why?”

“What they’re planning… Matt.”

She straightened. “He’s in danger?”

“Not right now. Not more than usual.”

“Oh. Well, good.” Her shoulders relaxed, and the cross around her neck swung a bit with her movement.

“Yeah. Uh, you’re a nun.”

“I am.” Maggie’s eyes narrowed. “Spit it out, Frank.”

It was a long shot, but… “Do you know of an empty building in the Bronx that belongs to the diocese? Windows boarded up, near the water?”

“That could be many buildings.”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll ask around.”

“Don’t ask MacMahon.”

“Do you take me for an idiot?”

“No, Sister.”

“That’s better.” She pointed at the chair he’d been leaning on before turning back to the coffee machine, and he took the hint. He’d get that spiked coffee and then he could go to the shelter, but not before. “Don’t rush into things without thinking,” she said. “That’s Matthew’s flaw; it doesn't have to be yours.”

“Right.” He took the mug she held out to him. “So, uh. Anything need fixing around here? Before I go to work.” Maybe he didn’t have to be in such a hurry, after all.

“Well,” she replied. “Now that you mention it…”

Figuring out where the bad pipe was took a good chunk of time, but it helped clear his mind. Maggie shooed him out without offering him coffee or a sandwich, but at least he'd managed to get the heating working again in Sister Francesca’s room before she came to warn him that Father MacMahon was coming, for once, and Frank should make himself scarce.

He hoped Matt was doing all right, that he was doing well in court, that he remembered to eat lunch, to drink water, to take breaks. As long as he had Lucy with him he probably did, at least a little.

 _Stay home tonight_ , he texted once back at the shelter. _You need to rest._

His phone rang late in the afternoon as he was fixing the lock on a kennel.

“Yeah?”

“Hey.” Matt paused, and Frank sat on the floor and closed his eyes. _Don’t push_ , he told himself. However stilted the conversation, they could do this. They’d get through this. “How are you doing?”

“Fine. You?”

“Uh, good.” Another pause. “You left early.”

“Yeah. Woke up before it was day out, but you needed to rest.”

“You never disturb me.”

Frank rested his head against the wall at his back. “You’re tired, Red. If you want to take on these people, you need to be in top form, yeah?”

“I know.” There was a raspy sound that told Frank someone hadn’t shaved in the morning. “About Elektra, I wanted to tell you…”

“I’m listening.” Frank hadn't had to be so patient in years, unless it was for a mark he was planning to kill. But he could be, for Matt. He could.

“I love her, it’s true. But not… not that way. She can’t replace you; no one can. I don’t want to, uh. Be with her.”

“She’s a woman.” St. Paul would like that better than a guy, any guy, even if she was just as deadly as Frank.

“She’s not _you_.”

Frank closed his eyes. He didn’t want to have this conversation after all. “I’ll stay at the shelter tonight.”

“No! Please.” Matt’s voice broke, and Frank’s throat tightened. “Please, I… I know I shouldn’t listen to him; I know he’s not a good man. I heard things, but I don’t… I didn’t know, at first. I trusted him. And now, those verses, they’re in my head; they’re twisting everything. I don’t tell him what he wants me to say, but I have to let him believe he’s got me.”

Frank blinked his eyes open and wiped his cheeks. “You know he’s manipulating you?”

“It was small things, at first. The way his heart jumped in strange moments, or when I overheard him on the phone. I only really knew Father Lantom before, so I thought he was just a different guy, that I shouldn’t expect every priest to be Father Lantom. I listened to him until last week, when I smelled meth in his office. I was looking for him, but he was away. The smell, though… couldn't miss it.”

“You never told Maggie?”

“I don’t know how to tell her. He’s still a priest, Frank, and priests are human too. They’re not perfect.”

“This one definitely isn’t.”

“I shouldn't judge; I can’t. I was still furious at Father Lantom when he was killed and we never… I never mended that.”

“So you thought you’d give the new one a chance? Do the Christian thing, all your redemption shtick?”

“You’re angry.”

Yes. No. Both. “You suspected he was shit from the start, and you still went to him.”

“I wasn’t sure and then I wanted to know more. And I still need to confess.”

“What kind of absolution do you get, if you’re not truthful? Thought that was the point.”

“God knows what’s in my heart. And I’m trying to be, now. With you.”

“I’m not your priest, Red.”

“There are other priests.” Frank waited; he wanted Red to say it. He wanted to hear it. “There's only one you. I thought I could be stronger than this, I swear; I thought I wouldn't let his words poison me. But it’s written, Frank.”

“St. Paul’s just one guy. And it was all copied, copied again, translated, translated again. You know better than that.”

“I’m working on it.” The way Matt’s voice was shaking, Frank was pretty sure he was crying. “Please come tonight.”

“I’ll kill that man, Red, you hear me?”

There was a wet chuckle on Matt’s end. “We can have dinner and plan, yeah?”

“I’m not sleeping on the couch.”

“I won’t ask you to.”

“Good.”

The air between them felt lighter than in the previous days, and Lucy seemed to pick up on it; she was more playful and demanded belly rubs more often. Matt himself still looked tired, but he smiled more too, even if he didn’t initiate contact with Frank. He didn’t jump away if they brushed against each other in the kitchen or when their thighs touched on the couch, and Frank thought it was progress. Not where he wanted to be, but getting there.

“We need to get these women out,” Matt said. “But also find proof that the Fisks are behind this. If we don’t, it’ll be for nothing.”

“Do you really think putting her in prison will stop them?”

“You want to kill them.”

“Yeah.”

“Don’t. Please.”

“It’s what I do; you know that. And don’t give me any of that soul bullshit.”

Red smiled a little. “I _am_ worried for your soul. But no, I think it’ll do more good to have them thoroughly investigated. Vanessa Fisk is already breaking the law by being in New York; she’s not allowed here.”

“You expect me to listen to you?”

“We could get more names, dismantle the entire network; that’s the ultimate goal.”

“And what does she say? Your ex.”

“She doesn’t care about the Fisks. She’ll kill them if they’re in her way, but what she’s after is different.”

“That Hand you mentioned?”

“Yeah. They’re the ones doing the trafficking, trying to make enough money to rebuild their empire.”

“They’re not going to get more of that magic substance you told me about.”

“Well, even if they don’t beat death anymore, they can still go for some regular crime.”

“Matt.”

“Hm?”

“Is _she_ immortal?”

“She’s… different. Recovers faster from injuries, harder to hurt. She doesn’t want to say more, but I can hear things: her heart’s slower, her bones harder. She wouldn't have survived Midland Circle otherwise.”

“You did.”

“God’s will.”

The roof access door opened and there she was, her tactical clothing covered with suspicious stains. “Not God’s, Matthew: _your_ will. And you may have ingested some of that crushed dragon bone.”

“You here again?” Frank scowled; he should have expected her since she seemed to think she was allowed to barge in at all hours, but he didn’t have to like it.

“Can’t I visit an old friend? You shouldn't make that face, you know; you might get stuck like that. It’s not pretty.”

“Did you find anything?” Matt asked as she got down the stairs.

“Well, there is an interesting development.” She went for the booze again, but Red shook his head when she held out a bottle. “Your loss, Matthew; it’s the bottle I brought last week, much better than your usual cheap stuff. What about you, Grumpy?”

“Fuck off.”

“Aren’t you curious?”

“Elektra, just tell us.”

“Oh, fine.” She poured herself some scotch that looked the same as the regular kind Matt had, but the bottle sure looked more expensive. She took a sip before continuing. “That shady priest of yours? Raised by the Hand.”

Matt froze on the couch, his hand rigid on Lucy’s head.

“Like you were?” Frank asked.

She slammed her half-drained tumbler on the table. “I was Chaste, and trained a warrior. _He_ was trained to be a Hand spy in the Catholic church.”

“Fuck.”

Matt kept quiet, but his face said enough. He shook his head and went to the bedroom, sliding the door closed behind him.

“I would like to kill that man, but I take it I may have to fight you for the pleasure,” she said.

“Yeah.”

“I guess I can let you have him, then.”

“ _Let_ me?”

“Matthew wouldn't forgive me if I hurt you.” She glanced at the bedroom door, a small, almost sad smile on her face. “Good night, boys.” And she left as quick and quiet as she’d come.

Frank stood up and knocked on the closed door.

“Come in.”

He stepped in, Lucy on his heels. What could he say? _I’m sorry_ didn’t cut it, _I’ll kill him_ wouldn’t help.

“Is he even a priest?” Matt said. “Did he fake everything?”

Frank sat on the covers and took the red glasses away, folded them and set them on the bedside table. “Does it matter?” Red opened his mouth but Frank didn’t let him speak. “No, really. Does it? You believe in God, not a priest.”

“How do I know what God wants? How can I tell what I’m supposed to do?”

“Do you need that guy, any guy, for that? What does your gut tell you?”

“I don’t know.” Matt’s lips trembled. “I’m lost,” he whispered.

Frank wasn’t sure if he meant lost to eternal damnation or lost without direction, but when Red pulled him down to the bed and started crying silently in his shoulder, Frank vowed he’d kill that guy. He’d kill that fake priest.

Matt slept, in the end, but Frank didn’t. Not really. He kept picturing that priest’s purple face, mouth open, tongue lolling out, as he choked; he imagined MacMahon’s spindly fingers scrabbling on Frank’s around his neck, trying to peel his hand away and failing and dying, dying.

The shadows grew and ebbed on the ceiling, and Frank thought of what should be done: get the women out, get rid of those Hand people who worked for the Fisks, get both of them in jail, kill that priest. He would accept letting the Fisks live if he could feel that asshole die by his hand, feel his blood flow warm and sticky on his skin.

When Lucy blinked at him and went from lying over his feet to sprawling over his thighs, he petted her head and looked at Matt’s talking clock. It would soon be time for Red to get up and get ready for work, but Frank didn’t really want for morning, for reality, to intrude. Matt was warm in his arms, Lucy heavy on his legs.

Acknowledging the morning would mean losing both of those things.

Red sighed and managed to wriggle just a bit closer. “Frank?”

“Yeah.”

“What time is it?”

“Seven.”

“Mm.” A bit more squirming, then, “I’m sorry.”

Frank’s hand went from Lucy’s ear to Matt’s hair. “I know.”

They were silent for a moment longer; it was peaceful. Couldn’t last forever, though.

“I’ll find that building,” Red said. “Or I’ll ask Karen to; she’s good at digging out this kind of stuff and I’m, you know, that blind lawyer. She can find what properties belong to the diocese and from those I’ll find the one we want.”

“Elektra?” He didn’t really want to talk about her with Matt’s hair tickling his nose, but there they were. The sooner this shit show was over…

“She said she was trying to get in touch with Fisk, any Fisk; she’ll tell us if it works. Her goal is the Hand, but she’ll let us know what she learns.”

“You trust her.”

“She wants revenge. She’ll get it.”

“All right.” Trusting someone’s revenge, that was something he could get behind. Frank wanted to touch the skin under Matt’s shirt, but he kept his hands where they were. It cost him. “What do we still need to know?”

“Well, once Elektra knows where the Hand are, we can take them down. Vanessa Fisk will probably be around; her husband’s forces are gone, and she’s relying on them. We can split.”

Frank braced himself. “Split how?”

“Elektra and I, we’ll go for the Hand. We know them; we’ve fought them before.”

“Me?”

“The Bronx building?”

“You want me away from her.”

“I want you away from the Hand.”

Frank grunted. It felt patronizing and he didn’t like it at all. “And you think she needs help?”

“Someone needs to stop her from killing them all; they could have information that would help with the Fisks.”

“And you think if I went with her we’d just get rid of all the assholes all at once; is that it?” Not that they wouldn't: they _absolutely_ would.

Red nodded against Frank’s chest. “I thought I could ask Danny to go with her; he’d love to punch some Hand, but she’d never listen to him.”

“But she’d listen to you.” Because of whatever they had been to each other once, Frank knew. He hated it.

“Maybe, which is better than not at all.”

“Fine.” Still didn’t like it.

“We have to get more intel on both locations, though. How many of them, their weaponry…”

They had their job cut out for them for the next few days. “Promise me one thing.”

Matt made a questioning sound.

“Don’t go see that priest again. Don’t go to the church again, all right? Maggie, yes. But not him.” Frank looked at the clock, saw the hour change. He waited.

“Okay,” Matt said after a minute. “A few days aren’t enough for him to suspect anything; it’ll be fine.”

“He’s poison.”

“I know.”

“He’s poisoned you.” Frank privately thought Red’s faith was part of the problem; it sustained him and gave him a compass just as much as it destroyed him. All the guilt he carried, he wouldn’t have to shoulder it without his faith. Frank knew how much accidentally killing a guy bent on murdering him in the hospital had broken something in Red, but then again the way he clung to his no-killing rule made him who he was. His compassion, his desire to help everyone as a lawyer and as Daredevil… his faith fueled that, too.

Frank still resented it.

“Frank?”

“Yeah.”

“What time is it? Really?”

“Eight-thirty.”

“I don’t want to leave here.”

“Then stay.”

Matt peeled himself slowly away, shaking his head. His hand lingered on Frank’s chest, over his heart. “Thank you,” he whispered.

As he watched Matt get ready for the day, Frank couldn't shake a sense of unease. Where was it coming from? He was pretty sure now that Elektra wouldn't steal Red from him, so that wasn’t the problem. Was it Matt’s low mood? Frank was well aware it wasn’t a new thing, and what with the fake priest… he’d used Matt’s faith to sow doubt in his heart and Matt, even knowing that asshole was trying to manipulate him, had listened. The guy had been good; he’d given him the official Church spiel and Red, well. He’d wanted someone to fill his former priest’s shoes so badly that he’d listened only too well at first.

“You taking Lucy today?” he asked.

“Nah, we’ll be at court all afternoon. She’s not an official guide dog, so they won’t allow her in; you’d better keep her.” Matt sat by Frank’s hips, his mouth tight.

“Spit it out, Red.”

He didn’t. He shook his head then bent and kissed Frank, instead. It was a quick kiss, just a brush of lips on lips. Nothing lingering, nothing promising other, better activities. But it was _a_ promise, and it made Frank feel just that bit lighter.

He cleared his throat. “I’ll call you, yeah? Now go, you’ll be late.”

Lucy looked forlorn after Matt left but Frank hoped she, at least, would be cheered up by some playtime with the other shelter dogs today.

The following days were much of the same.

Frank stayed at the shelter a few nights when Matt said he was going out, but even then he called Frank. He also told him if he got injured (nothing too bad, but the bruise that appeared later was impressive) and didn’t try to hide it if he met Elektra. They shared a bed, and Matt didn’t start the night all closed off anymore, but he was still uncomfortable with initiating physical contact. He didn’t try to kiss Frank again, and Frank didn’t push.

He came to pick Matt up from work on Wednesday evening, but Red was still with a client when he got there. He nodded at Nelson, who was busy going through a file from a shelf, and looked at Karen’s empty desk. Maybe he could sit in her chair instead of the ones in the waiting room; hers was more comfortable. But right as he was thinking about it, Matt’s office door opened and he walked out with a woman: a small, curvy lady with dark, wavy hair and no-nonsense business clothes. Her thin wire glasses had slid down her nose a little, and her eyes seemed to mock him; what… ah.

“Elektra,” he said as he bent to pet Lucy. She’d shot from between her and Matt’s legs to greet him; good girl.

“Oh, great job!” She’d even disguised her voice; the pitch and accent were different.

Nelson turned around and stared. “No… holy shit!”

She smiled, slow as a snake. “What, Franklin, a little disguise and you don't recognize me? Am I that forgettable?” She reverted to her usual voice. “I know Matthew told you I was around.”

“ _I_ recognized you,” Matt said.

“Shut up; you don’t count, buddy.”

“Aw, Foggy! Way to help me work on my self-esteem.”

Frank smiled at their easy back-and-forth, and he saw Elektra smile too. She winked at him.

“You here for a reason? Apart from annoying Nelson.”

“Hey!”

“I am. I’ve got news to share with you. Hungry?”

“Not to be a harbinger of doom,” Nelson cut in, “but… you’ve been _bad_ news from the first time Matt’s laid eyes – uh, ears, I guess, on you.”

There was a slightly-too-long silence.

“Really,” she said flatly.

“Foggy, we’re good.”

“I worry. You can’t blame me for that, can you?” The glare Nelson aimed at Elektra was pretty strong, if wasted; she ignored him and only had eyes for Matt.

“No. But we’re not going half-cocked into anything, I promise.”

“And we all know you’re very good at planning and have been for all the years I’ve known you, right?”

“Let’s go,” Frank said. “I’m keeping an eye on her,” he added for Nelson’s peace of mind.

“Better keep both, I’m telling you.” But after that Matt’s buddy retreated into his own office with a sigh.

“Well, let me invite you both to Helen Tam’s penthouse; it’s got a lovely view of Central Park.”

“That your alias?”

“Rich, business-oriented family from Hong-Kong, looking to expand here, open to all sorts of money-making endeavors. A cut-throat approach to deal-making, but, then again, that _is_ something the Fisks would respect, isn’t it?”

Matt shook his head and walked back into his office for his jacket and cane. “If we’re getting a taxi, you’re paying,” he said.

“A taxi? Oh, Matthew. A chauffeur, you mean.”

Her laugh was, Frank decided, rather grating.

But on Friday night, they were ready.

Elektra’s Helen Tam act had gotten them the intel they needed about where Vanessa Fisk and most of the Hand were hiding, so she and Red were going to storm the property they were hiding in: some big sprawling property in Brookville, Long Island. Matt had even enlisted his looks-like-a-hobo, is-rich-as-Croesus kung-fu buddy Danny, which didn’t make Frank feel entirely reassured, but at least that guy had some healing magic thing that could come in handy.

Red was Red; he’d inevitably get hurt, somehow.

As for Frank, he was going to the Bronx and getting the women out to safety. The building would be guarded, but he and Red had gone the night before to check it out; Frank was confident he knew the lay of the land.

“And don’t forget you’re not on your own,” Zhang said from behind him.

Ah, yes. Because Matt had called her, of course. “Yeah, yeah. See anything new?”

She lifted the night-vision binoculars once again. “Nah, nothing. You sure about the plan?”

“Yeah.”

“All right; lead on, McScruff.”

Why did he let her come along again?

Frank led the way around the block to get into the building via the boarded-up shop next to it. It wasn’t a great neighborhood, and Frank could see why MacMahon had thought a bunch of foreign women accompanied by some gangsters wouldn’t raise eyebrows. There was a sign on the street side saying the Church would soon rehab the building to turn it into a shelter, but given how discolored it was it had to have been there for a while. Fisk’s people had just had to kick some squatters out and boom, some real estate had been freed to house their victims.

Assholes.

They sneaked into the shop and disturbed some junkies who’d tried to find some quiet in there; a gun in the face convinced them to go find it elsewhere quick.

“All right,” Frank said once they’d found the door to the basement that connected the two buildings. “Whatever happens you get the women out, yeah?”

“Yep.”

They crossed the basement; it was just storage and pipes and needles. Looked like the junkies went down there too. When they reached the bottom of the stairs leading up to the first floor, he looked over his shoulder.

“And nothing else.”

“I never agreed to that. I’ll do my very best to get them _and you_ out.”

“Zhang…”

“We’re working as a team. Now go on, mow those guards; I’ll be right behind.”

Frank sighed, opened the door, and the shooting began.

He did everything he could to get as many of the fuckers as possible, but he couldn't get them all. He hoped the weapons he’d given Zhang wouldn’t be traced back to her and, if they were, that Madani would cover it; she didn’t deserve to be dragged down with him. Even if she’d insisted on helping as soon as Red told her about the situation.

“I wasn’t expecting ninjas!” Zhang yelled from somewhere to his left.

Well, neither had Frank, not in the Bronx. He emptied a mag in an asshole who’d just jumped down from the upper floor and picked up a gun from a not-ninja Zhang had shot dead a moment ago. He ran then slid on his knees to get under the staircase and get the fuckers who might think they could ambush them, but no one came down, and the only sounds now were Zhang’s heavy breathing and the thump of Frank’s blood in his ears.

“There has to be more of them,” she whispered after joining him.

“Yeah.” He glanced at her before taking stock of the floor. Holes in the drywall, corpses, dark wet stains everywhere. “There’s no prisoners up there.”

“They were expecting us.”

“Not us exactly, I’d say.”

“Who, then?” She wiped the sweat from her face.

“Red, I think. Maybe they saw him sniffing around.”

“Well, if they’re here for him, they’re not where he is, right?”

“Right.” Not that Frank wasn’t happy to know Matt wasn’t facing as many assholes, but he hadn’t wanted to bring Zhang into a trap either. _Fuck_. The windows and main door were still boarded up and the only way out…

There was a noise from where they’d come from, and they looked at each other: they were good and trapped. She pointed up and he nodded. It’s not like there was any other option, yeah.

He took point and she followed him with her rifle aimed at the floor they were leaving. There were a few bursts of fire from her weapon as they got shot at but soon enough, he was too busy with putting as much lead as he could in some fucking ninjas before they could come anywhere close. Right as they reached the landing, she threw a couple grenades downstairs and they put the door, flimsy as it was, between themselves and the explosions. And then it was all one shot, one kill; training took over, bloodlust took over.

Everything smelled like gunpowder; everything tasted like iron. Iron and lead. He had one thing in mind now, only one: find a way out. There had to be a window Zhang could jump out of, maybe a fire staircase; he’d cover her escape. He’d –

“Shit!” He saw stars for a few seconds; she’d just thrown herself at him and knocked him down, and he looked up to see holes in the drywall right where he’d been standing.

“What the fuck were you doing there, brooding?”

“Looking for a way out.”

“Yeah, well, we got other stuff to – Frank, you’re bleeding!”

“Huh?” A sudden sharp pain in his leg and he looked down. “Hey, stop poking.”

She quirked her lips “Hey, stop bleeding.” Then she got to her knees and shot above the huge crates they were hiding behind. “There, got that one. Okay, can you walk?”

“I could until you flattened me then stuck your finger in my leg.”

“Look, don’t bleed to death is all I’m saying; the boyfriend would kill me if I let anything happen to you.”

“No he wouldn't.”

“Right, he’d kill himself. Way better outcome, lieutenant.”

“Why the fuck did I bring you along?”

She grinned at him, jumped over the crates, and started shooting again.

There were, of course, more ninjas. Red would be proud to know those assholes had thought they needed to send so many plus regular gun-toting fuckers just for him, but right now Frank was done. They cleared the floor and looked at the stairs going up; they could hear steps there, hear someone stomping purposefully so they’d know more were coming from there.

“Back downstairs?” Zhang whispered.

They positioned themselves to each side of the door. She pointed at his leg, kicked it open, and stared: the wooden staircase wasn’t there anymore. Worse: the floor was on fire.

“That’s not good,” she said.

“No shit.”

“Well then. Up and at’em, I guess?”

She winked at him before taking point to climb upstairs.

Point, shoot, duck, hide; his pants were sticking to his leg, and he pretended it wasn’t blood. As long as he didn’t check, he could pretend he didn’t have any other injuries. Zhang had taken some hits too: one on her vest that had to have cracked a rib and she’d also caught a knife in the arm, but she wasn’t showing it. She was limping from a twisted ankle after a bullet caught her in the vest and sent her tumbling down a couple stairs, but it didn’t slow her down. They’d emptied all their magazines now, and they were using whatever they could find: one dead asshole’s gun, a hammer left in a corner, the ka-bar knives they each carried in a back holster. The fire was climbing steadily and gaining on them, and someone in the neighborhood must have called the fire department because they could hear the sirens. But right as they got really close, there was shooting outside too: Fisk’s men were attacking the fire trucks.

He and Zhang ended up right behind the door that led out to the roof, but even if no one was waiting for them outside, which he doubted, they couldn't get back down into the fire.

“Well,” Zhang managed between pants, “it was an honor.”

“The fuck you talking about?” He checked the assault rifle he’d taken from one of the corpses downstairs. The woman had still been holding a fresh mag in her hand, and now it was their last firearm. Their last few bullets.

“We’re not getting out of here alive.”

He looked at her, her eyes fierce under her helmet, her cheeks tacky with blood. “I’m going out there and you cover me. I clean the roof; you find the fire escape. There must be one.”

“And someone will be waiting under it.”

“I’ll take them down. You get out.”

“ _We_ get out.”

“Sure,” he replied. “We get out.”

He ignored her narrowed eyes and positioned himself.

_One batch, two batch._

She opened the door without trying to kick it this time and he ran out, shooting. _Penny and a dime._

“Come on, Frank; wake up!”

A loud, thwapping sound again; he tried to aim his rifle, but it was just too heavy. Too heavy. It clattered back on the concrete. He tried to push on his arms, get to his feet. His knees, at least. He couldn't.

“You’re good, Zhang’s good, but we have to get you out, okay? The building’s on fire, come on, stay awake…”

“Cover you.”

“No, you’re not covering anyone; you’re coming with me. You’re bleeding too much, I can’t…”

He heard a groan; could have been him. The pain in his leg had suddenly skyrocketed.

“Frank!”

He knew that voice; it was a good voice. He was pulled up a little; there were hands on his face. Fresh air; helmet’s off.

“Frank, no, stay…”

Soft beeps, too-bright lights, and Frank closed his eyes again. From the smells and the sounds and the dulled pain he could feel, he was in a hospital. Everything hurt, in a distant way. He wasn’t tied to the bed, which felt almost novel for a stay in the hospital.

“Welcome back,” someone said. The voice was vaguely familiar, but he didn't want to risk opening his eyes again. “You’re at the Rand hospital. I almost didn’t recognize you, Mr. Castle; you didn’t have a beard last time we met.”

He brought a hand up to his face and peered between his fingers. No-nonsense bun streaked with white, asymmetrical glasses with too much glitter. “Dr. Sam.”

“That’s me. You lost quite a bit of blood and gave everyone a good scare, but you'll live. This time.”

“Zhang,” he croaked.

“She’s doing fine; we discharged her yesterday.”

“Got injured.”

“Not as bad as you; she’s already faster on her busted leg and ankle than my mother on speed.”

“Huh?”

“Mom mixed up her pills a few weeks ago; good thing I’m a doctor, right?” Her smile wasn’t exactly reassuring. “So,” she went on, “I see you’re a popular man; several people came and left gifts for you.”

Gifts? Frank didn’t care. Where was Matt? Red was the only person he wanted to see now, but he didn’t want to ask her. What did she know? Was he…

“I think the one you need right now is this one?”

She dropped something in his hands, and he immediately recognized it, even before looking at it.

“Your young man is a bit high-strung, isn’t he?”

Frank twined his fingers in the rosary. “Sometimes.”

“We couldn't kick him out for two days while you were in and out and mostly on the really good drugs, but then five minutes ago he left this and walked out like he had the devil on his tail. Are you always in the middle of some relationship drama, or is it only when you come here? Anyway, if you’re awake, we’re going to do some tests; no time like the present and conscious. You’ll be able to get back to you busy social schedule after that,” she added with a cheeky grin.

Jesus, she was going to get on his nerves pretty quick, he thought.

When he was wheeled back into his room after Dr. Sam had poked at him to her heart’s content, he found a bunch of cards and little gifts on a table near the bed. There was a card from Ravi and his family that invited him and Matt for dinner one day once he was back on his feet, a couple books from Leo, a tennis ball launcher with a note from Carlie and Naye: _For Lucy, because her dads aren’t getting any younger and recovery time from getting beaten up is longer every time ;-) Get well soon!_ Nelson and Karen had been by too; there was a paper bag with victory bagels from that bakery near Matt’s apartment. Someone had stapled a card to the bag and drawn a little skull with a sharpie on it.

He settled in the bed with one of the books and started reading. Nurses came and went to pronounce him still alive if not quite kicking; they changed the dressings on his leg and tutted at him for not using the sling for his shoulder and generally were a nuisance. He was grateful for the bagels because the lunch they brought was terrible, and when Zhang came to visit at the end of the afternoon, he was so grateful for the reprieve from boredom he could have smiled at her.

“How’s the old man, then?” she said. “Still creaking along?”

“Come to gloat?”

She grinned and sat on a chair, leaving her crutches on the floor. “Hey, they let me out first, so I win.”

“That so?”

“Yup. Well, and my boss promised I’d be under medical surveillance anyway, but she made it sound like a threat. The ankle’s going to be okay, but the hip’s going to take more time, the docs said.”

“How bad?”

“Not bad _bad_ , Frank, don’t go all mother hen on me. I’ve had worse.” She stretched out one leg in front of her, and he could see her ankle encased in a brace.

“Madani bailed you out?”

“Uh huh.”

“But not me?”

“Nah, you had a guard dog with you, and no one could come near unless they were a doc. Well,” she added, “two dogs.”

“Lucy’s not a guard dog.”

“No, but she definitely took her cues from Matt. Hey, where’s the boyfriend, by the way?”

“I don’t know.” Her eyebrows went up. “He left this morning, the doc said.”

“You didn’t… talk?”

“No.”

She leaned back in her chair, looking pensive. “Trouble in paradise?”

“Why are you here?”

“Brought you something to eat that’s not overcooked meat and pasta boiled to death.” She was exaggerating, but he was still grateful for the plastic container she handed him. “My mom made it. I’m useless around the kitchen, but she was brought up traditional and she knows her way around one.”

“You tell her you’re bringing this to me?”

“Oh yeah.”

“I almost got you killed.”

“Well, mom doesn’t like that I chose this job, but she respects that I did. And she likes my boss, too.”

“Madani doesn’t have anything to do with what we did.”

“Yeah, that’s what you think. Of course I told her; she okayed it.”

Frank shook his head. “You shouldn't have.”

“How do you think I got access to that much ordnance? Which, you know, we really needed.”

Goddammit, he didn’t want to owe his life to Madani _again_. “You still got a job?”

“Course I do. After we got evac’ed and the fire was contained, her team got in and collected… I don’t know, stuff. I do grunt work, not the investigation part.”

“You could if you wanted to.”

“Eh, well. I like the grunt work; I’m good at it. Maybe I’ll move on to tactical ops or training the babies later on when I’m too old, but I don’t want anything to do with suits.” She leaned forward and poked at the box. “Come on, eat up. There are chopsticks inside.”

“Right.” She chatted about how much she hated ankle braces, the price of cigarettes, her brother, and whether she should get him a dog while he ate and only answered with grunts and a few monosyllabic words.

“Thanks,” he said when he was finished. “Appreciate it. Tell your mom she’s a great cook.”

“That’ll make her day.”

“Zhang,” he said when she took the box to put it back into her tote. “I just… thanks. For what you did.”

“We got each other out; I think we’re even.”

Frank didn’t really agree; she hadn’t had to be there in the first place. But arguing with her would be pointless. “How long are you going to be on crutches?”

“Ugh, don’t ask.” She tapped the brace with her other foot. “It sucks, Frank.”

“Yeah, I know.” He watched her pick them up and get to her feet – well, foot, for the time being. At least the injured hip and the twisted ankle were on the same side. “Hey, come to the shelter one day, yeah? Bring your brother. Maybe we’ll find him a dog.”

He was pretty sure she’d deny squealing even under torture, but he’d remember she absolutely did. “Wei’s going to be over the moon! He’s wanted to meet you for ages, and just you wait – I bet he’ll create some new designs for the occasion!”

“Ugh. No cutesy skulls with heart eyes, all right?”

“Hey, you liked the swim trunks well enough.”

Well yeah, but he wouldn’t admit it. “They’re not cutesy.”

“Uh huh. Putting a skull on the boyfriend’s butt? That’s totally cute, man. Bet he loved it.”

“Don’t you dare tell him.”

“Wait, you _didn’t_ tell him? Ha!” she laughed at him, and Frank scowled. “Okay, fine, I won’t. For now.”

“I’ll hold you to it.”

“Yeah, yeah. Maybe dye those white hairs before meeting my brother, though; they kind of make you lose the Punisher mystique, you know? I’ll bring some mascara next time; it’ll do in a pinch.”

He threw his pillow at her as she left, but she dodged it.

He didn’t need it anyway.

There was no sign – no outward sign – of Matt for the next 24 hours. Karen came to bring him fresh clothes that she said Matt had left on her desk; Sister Maggie sneaked in a thermos of coffee and a flask of scotch… but no Matt.

Frank was leaving the hospital the following morning, and he found he couldn't sleep. If Red needed his space, maybe Frank should go to the shelter and wait there, but then again maybe he shouldn’t. Or maybe he should go and confront him, talk it out. That’s what they’d been doing, right? And it had been good. Shit, he didn’t know what to do.

A throat being cleared jolted him out of a fitful sleep, and cold, cold fear gripped him when he couldn't find a weapon under his hand before he saw her silhouette framed by the light creeping out from under the door.

“Hello, Frank.”

He pushed on his elbows to sit up and face her better. “Elektra.”

“You look better.”

“What are you doing here?”

He wanted to make her lose that sly smile. “I think you have an idea, don’t you?”

Had she come to tell him she was keeping Matt? “You tell me.”

Her teeth were white enough that he could see them in the gloom. He wasn’t in the mood to turn on the light and see her gloat, anyway. “I’m here because of Matthew,” she said.

“What about him?”

“He was very worried, you know. About you.”

“Yeah?” _Let her talk_ , he thought. He refused to give her anything.

“When we arrived in Brookville, it was obvious there were not enough forces there, not enough to stop us anyway. We – well, I – got them to talk, and they said they’d been waiting for us in the Bronx. Matthew and his blonde secretary had been seen sniffing around, and Vanessa Fisk was expecting a hit there.”

“Karen. Her name is Karen.”

“Of course. They were also expecting _me_ , since I didn’t hide that I was back. So they put most forces there, and you and your young friend found yourself outnumbered.”

“We got out.”

“Yes, well. Good thing for you we were done early in Brookville, I think.”

Frank grunted; he didn’t want to agree, but he didn’t want to lie, either. She still hadn’t said why she was there, and that was putting him on edge.

She finally broke the silence. “I thought I owed you a visit, or rather I owe it to Matthew.”

“Yeah?” Frank said, as non-committal as possible.

“I do owe him. He believed in me when no one else did.”

“He does that.”

“Yes. So, since he’s currently hiding from you…” A bird shrieked past the window, and she grinned. “I’ve come in his stead.”

“Why, because he won’t break up in person with – because he's a coward?”

She laughed; she looked fucking delighted. “Aw, don’t be daft; he kissed you in front of his dearly beloved God and the whole of the Internet.”

“He… what?”

“Oh, but you were really out of it by then, weren’t you?” Elektra left her chair and came to sit on his bed, ignoring his best fuck-off glare. “Danny took a video, and I know other people did from their windows, too; you’re both lucky only Danny was close enough to have your faces visible.” She held out her phone to him. “Watch.”

He took the phone from her and hit play.

The video had been taken from the helicopter; he remembered hearing the chop chop of the blades above as he was fighting the last couple ninjas to make sure Zhang had a clear shot to the fire escape. He was already far gone at that point; everything blurry and far away unless it was that last goal: get her out. Stab, slash, punch, keep on his feet. It had been a challenge in the end; he’d lost enough blood that his vision had been going, or maybe it had been the smoke from the fire below. Sound had felt muffled, too.

But there had been the helicopter, and then the guy in his hands had dropped away although Frank hadn’t been finished with him, and then he’d fallen to his knees. “Get out,” he thought he’d said, and after that his memory was blank.

The video showed more than that, though; he’d missed a lot. While he could see himself staggering back up to stop a guy dressed like a Jackie Chan movie extra and throwing a couple sloppy punches, there were, in fact, many other guys up there. He hadn’t even been aware.

When the video started, Zhang was right by the ladder and emptying her clip – where had she found that gun? – into another woman pointing a rifle at her, but they were outnumbered – until suddenly Red was there.

“Hey, don’t jump from the helicopter, man!” someone yelled near the phone. “Don’t – aw, and now her too?” The video was blurry for a moment, and then the sounds became muffled; after that Frank could see both Elektra and the skinny blond guy had joined Matt on the roof and were going after a fresh bunch of assholes that had just jumped down from the next building over. Well, that explained why they kept pouring in while he and Zhang had been fighting their way up, then.

“Danny stuck his phone in a cargo strap and joined us,” Elektra said. “He’s a bit overly enthusiastic, but he fights well.”

From the angle, Frank could see the helicopter had landed, but the fight still went on, fire or no fire. Well, not for everyone; Frank could see himself wavering on his feet, clearly exhausted. On the screen, he raised his fist, but it never connected with the ninja. Red had just brained the guy with one of his fancy high kicks, and Frank remembered the jolt in his knees as he’d fallen. Matt went down with him, and the video was a bit shaky, but you could still see him take his gloves off and pat Frank’s face, his chest. The idiot was ignoring the fight going on around him to cradle Frank’s head, which was a stupid thing to do but also made his chest grow a bit tight.

“Get out,” he’d said then.

It didn’t take long for Danny, Zhang, and Elektra to finish off the last batch of ninjas and Fisk’s henchpeople, but Matt didn’t seem to give a shit about that anyway; he took his helmet off and…

“I know, not very smart while in a fight, is it?” Elektra was amused. “But Matthew has always been so… sentimental. A rooftop kiss is quite the declaration, I must admit.”

Frank kept staring at the phone. Matt was indeed kissing him: lips, forehead, nose. One of Red’s hands was pushing down on Frank's leg, right where it was still throbbing now. He’d been bleeding like a pig, the doc said. Zhang finally came to drag Red away while Elektra and Danny carried Frank to the helicopter, and then the video ended.

He was speechless. “Fuck,” he tried. It was a word, even if four letters weren’t enough to say what he wanted to say. He didn’t even know what he wanted to say.

“Quite. I like your little friend here; she’s got a very level head. Even remembered to pick up Matthew’s gloves and helmet, because he was only thinking of you. We had to keep him away while Danny used his fist on you.”

“… what?”

“He managed to heal you enough that you didn't die while we were getting you here.”

“Oh.” More mystical ninja bullshit, although this time it had actually been the useful kind. He gave her back the phone. “Why did you show me this?”

“Well, two reasons. The first one is so you won’t be too surprised if you hear about The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen's epic romance; Danny told me you made headlines in the gossip section not so long ago and this has, apparently, rekindled speculation.”

“Shit.”

“Shame I can’t really use it to blackmail you; if this went public it would make my own life too complicated.”

“What’s _too complicated_ like for you?”

She winked at him. “You don’t want to know.”

Well, maybe not. “What’s the second reason?”

“Ah, yes.” She tilted her head back and looked at the ceiling. “Tell me, Frank. How is your relationship going, with Matthew?”

The hell? “None of your business.”

“He should be here, shouldn't he? While you recover.”

“I’m leaving tomorrow.”

“Hm. And where are you going next? Your dingy little flat above that little shelter where you work? You’ll still need help for a while with that leg, but will you feel welcome if you go to Matthew’s?”

She turned her head slightly and then he heard it: a commotion in the corridor, someone yelling, “Intruder! Call security!” followed by another voice, vaguely familiar, saying they were dealing with it.

The door flew open and Red was there, dressed all in black but without his mask. Danny was hovering behind him; he looked over the scene, nodded at Frank, and walked away.

Elektra finally spoke. “Took you long enough, Matthew.”

He didn’t answer.

“I know what Stick taught us, what your church tells you. But that’s not who you are,” she said. “You can’t let these things destroy you. Stick’s dead anyway.”

“Elektra…”

“Remember, I know you.” Her hand brushed Red’s cheek, and Frank _didn’t_ jump out of bed to tear her away from him. “He’s not going to die in your arms, Matthew. He’s fine.” She got around him, gave him a little push forward, and left.

“Hey.”

“Come here, Matt.”

Red took a few hesitant steps; he looked more like a guy on his way to the gallows than anything else.

“Don't tell me you’ve been lurking on the roof all this time, scaring the pigeons.”

“Okay, I won’t.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Yes.”

“You gonna stay away?”

“I’m an asshole. I hurt you.”

“Guess it was your turn, yeah?”

“I’ve been a shitty boyfriend to you.”

Still _boyfriend_ , then.

“You’re a little shit all right.” Frank held out his hand. “Wouldn't have it any other way.”

But still Red wouldn’t come all the way to the bed.

“Hey, it’s all right.”

“It’s really not.”

“Don't make me get out of this bed, Matt.” He could take a few steps without a crutch, but he’d rather not.

And finally, finally, he got close enough Frank could take his wrist and pull him forward a bit more.

“There, that’s better. Let me look at you, yeah?”

Another tug and he got Red to sit on the bed.

“You look like you haven’t slept since the other night.”

“I’m fine.” Frank mouthed those words along; he’d heard them often enough. “We did it, Frank. The NYPD got there to help the fire department, and they made a lot of arrests. Vanessa Fisk is in jail, and what was left of the Hand is no more. All the trafficking, it’s over.”

 _For now_ , Frank didn’t say. And there was still the priest; he hadn’t forgotten him. His hour would come. “That’s good.”

“We’ve been building up our clients’ cases with Foggy and Karen; things are looking up for them.”

“Okay. Have you been out at night, too?”

Matt was quiet for a while. “No,” he said after a long moment.

“Stayed home with Lucy?”

“She’s, um. I’ve been leaving her with Karen at night.”

“So you’re not out as Daredevil, but you’re not home either?” Frank was starting to form a picture. “How long have you been up on the roof? It’s 3 in the morning,” he added after a quick check on his phone.

“I just… I missed you.”

“I’m down here, though. Not up there. Hey, no, don’t.” But Matt bit his lip to stop its trembling. “Come here,” he said again, and Matt finally did.

He lay down on the narrow bed and wriggled until he was snuggled up all along Frank's side, careful to avoid putting weight on his injuries and yet still as close as he could possibly be. Still, Frank was pretty sure he was this close to falling off the bed at any moment.

“I’ve missed you for weeks, even when you were right there,” Red said into his shoulder. “I could hear you, feel you, smell you; I wanted to touch you, but I…” His voice was growing wetter. “I fought it, I swear.”

“I know, Red; I know.”

And he did; he’d seen him struggle all the way through, after all. Frank kept carding his fingers through Matt’s hair and waiting for the storm to pass, just letting himself feel Red’s warm body right against him, Red’s arm around his chest, Red’s damp breath on his neck.

When his breathing got more regular, Frank shook him a little. “Hey, want to get in the bed now?”

“Yeah, okay.” He slowly, reluctantly sat up to take his boots off and, after hesitating, his cargo pants and his sweatshirt, and he joined Frank under the thin hospital blankets wearing only underwear and a tank top. They maneuvered a bit before managing to both fit on the bed, their legs tangled together and facing each other on the single pillow.

Matt’s hand touched Frank’s face, as if he wanted to make sure he was really there, really whole; Frank let him.

“I want to kiss you,” Matt whispered.

He didn’t need to ask, but Frank could see he needed encouragement. “That right?”

“Yeah.”

“What if _I_ want to kiss you?”

That got Frank a smile. “I can go with that too.”

“All right, then.”

It was late at night or rather very early in morning and they were both tired; Frank still hurt everywhere and Red, well. Red was a bit cold, and Frank could feel his ribs right under his skin because Matt probably hadn’t eaten much or drunk enough water for several days. He was that kind of idiot, after all, but he was somehow _Frank’s_ kind of idiot. One he just wanted to hold tight, safe and sound and truly back, now. Matt’s lips were chapped and their slow kisses soon became even slower, so Frank finally settled half on top so his bad leg was resting on Matt’s and closed his eyes. Red’s hair tickled his nose, and he’d missed starting his nights like this, falling asleep with Matt right against him instead of stiff and closed off on the other side of the bed.

“Glad to have you back,” he mumbled.

Matt’s hand found his and squeezed in answer, and finally they fell asleep.

Frank woke to the sound of carts being wheeled in the corridor and fingers running through his hair and beard.

“Morning,” Matt said in a low voice.

“Hey.” He kept his eyes closed; he didn’t want the day to intrude yet. “You staying?”

“Yeah.”

They could hear the nurses knocking on doors, coming in the rooms, checking on the patients; soon one of them would be there.

“I guess they’ve seen you before, right?”

Matt hummed. “I’m not going to scare them, no.”

“A guy in underwear isn’t scary anyway.”

“Oh yeah?” Matt was smiling, it was right there in his voice. “Well, what about you? Big, bad Punisher with gray in his beard, hm? Very scary.”

“I don’t have – you’re _blind_ , Red. Ow,” he added when he felt Matt tug on a couple hairs.

“Different texture.”

“Stop trying to pluck my beard.” He wasn’t a chicken, for fuck’s sake.

“Oh, I wouldn’t. I’m sure you look very distinguished.”

Yeah? Okay, he could go with _distinguished_. “You bet I do.”

Frank finally opened his eyes and looked at Red, his messy hair and scruffy face. He was still wearing a crucifix around his neck, even after all that’d happened, but that was a conversation Frank didn’t have to have now. And a simple cross wasn’t that priest, anyway. He didn’t want to begrudge Matt anything that could make him feel better, and a gift from his mom was probably up there on the list.

Right as he was contemplating how he wanted to kill MacMahon or whatever his name actually was, Dr. Sam came in with a nurse, and the doc couldn't keep a straight face as soon as she saw them.

“Aw, your young man’s back, I see.”

None of her business. “I’m leaving today.”

“Yes, you are, but we must examine you first. Come on, shoo, Mr. Murdock; you’ll get him back when we’re done.”

The nurse who’d come in with the doc ogled Matt’s legs when he left the bed and put on his pants, and while Frank couldn't begrudge him the look of appreciation, he still didn’t have to like it.

“I’ll be, uh,” Matt said before escaping.

“He’s smooth, that one. Come on, Moussa, let’s have a look at our patient here, so we can release him before he turns fully gray.”

“I hate you.”

“Oh, I know.” And she grinned at him.

At least Moussa’s prodding was efficient, and it didn’t take long for them to pronounce him fit to go home.

Finally.

It took two weeks before Frank felt recovered enough he could go with Matt on one of his night rounds. Well, no; it took ten days, but Matt fussed over him. He insisted he could still hear his ribs creaking, that he could feel Frank’s wounds were too hot and the hole in his leg in particular still made him limp. Frank let him have a few more days playing mother-hen, but he put his foot down in the end.

“You can’t ground me forever, Matt. I’m going out with you.”

“Okay.”

Well, that was a quick victory. Frank’s inkling there was something behind it was confirmed when Matt went to root into his gear chest and came back with…

“Is that a vest?”

“Well, yours was turned into Swiss cheese, so I got you a new one.” Matt was beaming at him. “Look, I even painted a skull on it too! Well, Zhang helped; she told me exactly what to buy and got the right paint and everything. And she gave me a hand with the stencil too.”

Frank stared.

The paint had a slight pink hue that was visible in the bright light from the kitchen, and it was suspiciously reminiscent of some of her brother’s designs – rounder orbits, softer edges. Matt was probably unaware of it, but he was quickly picking up on Frank’s lack of enthusiasm.

“Is there something wrong?”

Shit, Frank hated to see his face fall like that. “No, it’s fine. Wasn’t expecting it.”

“It’s a surprise; we finished it two days ago.”

“That why you didn't want me out then?”

“You’re still limping a bit.”

“I’m not.”

“And you need a vest.”

“Says the guy who didn’t wear any sort of body armor for a good long while.”

“It’s not the same, Frank.”

“Oh, yeah?” He took the vest from Matt’s hands and put it on. It fit fine and if anyone laughed at it, well, he’d just have to kill them extra hard. Or, he thought as he watched Red put on his own gear, hit them on the head hard enough they’ll doubt their memories.

The fake priest had, of course, disappeared right after what had been left of the Hand was dismantled, but Frank got a text from an unknown number a few days after his first night back out with Matt.

 _Target located in Queens_ , it said. _I’ll be in touch_

There was one target in particular he was interested in, and he was pretty sure he knew who was behind that message. She would want MacMahon dead, too, since he was – had been? – Hand. Frank had planned to go after the man as soon as he could, but she’d gotten ahead of him. At least she was keeping him in the loop; he appreciated that.

She dropped in on him when he was at the shelter one evening, minding his own business with a book and Lucy stretched out over his legs. Literally dropped in from the roof, too; one minute Frank was quietly reading, the next he was pointing his gun at the window, Lucy hiding under the bed, and the next Elektra was politely knocking on the window from the outside. Just like Matt, she’d of course used the fire escape, in true ninja twin fashion.

“At least you’re knocking,” he said when he went to open the latch for her.

“I do have manners, you know.”

“Scared the dog.”

“Aw, no I haven’t.” She knelt on the floor and called Lucy out, and the traitor ran to Elektra and lay down, belly up and tongue lolling out. “See? Not scared, are we?”

He let them have some sort of girly bonding moment, then cleared his throat. “So?”

She sighed. “I wasn’t _finished_ , Frank. Ah, fine.” She stood up and looked around his small apartment, maybe looking for booze again. He sure didn’t have the high-end, top-shelf stuff she preferred. “Since you’re not with Matthew tonight, I thought it would be the perfect time to go and pay that false man of the cloth one last visit.”

“I’m on call.”

“You’re on call from midnight to 8am, and it’s ten. Plenty of time.”

“How would you know about my schedule?”

“I have my ways.” He hated her knowing little smile, but he figured she knew it and did it on purpose. “Come on, you can drive us.”

He looked outside the window. It was night outside; the dogs were quiet. And she was right; he was technically free for the next two hours. “Fine. Meet me outside.”

He took a gun and some ammo, a sweatshirt over his vest with a hood to hide his face, and waved at Ravi as he walked past the offices.

“Hey, Frank, everything all right?”

“Yeah, be back before you leave.”

“You got it!”

Ravi gave him a thumbs-up and Frank got into the old truck. Elektra, of course, was already waiting for him in the passenger seat.

“I said to meet me _outside_.”

“Your little friend didn’t see me; stop fretting.”

Frank sighed and turned the key in the ignition; they had something to do and he didn’t want to waste any more time.

Turned out the fake priest was hiding under a bridge, where he'd built – or appropriated – a sort of cabin made out of rusting corrugated iron, rotted plywood, and the odd space blanket.

He looked at the makeshift home through a scope. “Looks cozy.”

“We’ll set fire to it before leaving.” Huh. She’d spotted the jerrycans of gas in the back.

“Someone else could use that.”

“Taking care of the homeless? I see Matthew has rubbed off on you in more ways than one.”

Frank turned back to her and stared. “Don’t,” he finally said.

She sighed dramatically. “Fine.” She looked at the cabin and added, “Do you want to do this alone?”

“Thought you wanted him dead too.”

“I trust you can manage that part.”

“Course.”

“Then he’s yours. You have a personal claim on him, and I won’t begrudge you the pleasure.”

“Appreciate it.” He did, but he doubted Matt would. They hadn’t talked about it; they knew each other well enough now. Matt had to know, right? That particular conversation didn't need to happen.

“Are you worried about Matthew?”

Frank didn’t answer.

“Ah. Well, disagreements don’t spell the end of a relationship. They spice it up, I’m told.”

“He’s not like me. He’s not a killer.”

“He forgives those he loves.”

“He’s too soft.”

“You know he’s not.” She gave him a little push. “Go on; you want to make that man pay, so make him pay. He’s yours.”

“Those Hand assholes. They're over for good, after that?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

So Frank opened the truck door, took his gun out, and opened his sweatshirt when he was close. He tore the space blanket off and stepped in; MacMahon was lying on a pile of dirty cardboard, and he scrambled to his knees when Frank abruptly shone a flashlight in his face.

“Long time no see. _Father._ ”

The rat blinked at him for a moment. “Uh. Hello?”

“Don’t recognize me?”

More blinking, and Frank angled the light slightly to the side. “Um. Francis?”

“Most people call me Frank.”

He saw the asshole’s eyes go from his face to his vest, and the way they widened told Frank his real identity was now evident.

“Don’t kill me!”

Frank thumbed the safety off on his gun and the guy pissed himself. “Tell me, _Douglas_ ,” he said. “How many good people did you fuck up with your lies? I bet you’re not even a priest.”

“I… I…”

“’ _If a man lies with a male as with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination; they shall surely be put to death; their blood is upon them.’_ ”

“Leviticus,” the asshole gasped out. He was crying now; there was tears and snot on his face, and the smell of piss and shit was filling Frank’s nose. It smelled like a man who was about to die, and knew it.

“You’ve read it, at least.”

“I studied! I was a good priest; I taught what priests are supposed to teach. No one guessed anything! No one could tell…”

“You were a shitty spy and a shittier priest.” Frank shot one knee then the other and watched the man howl and bleed. “I could let you bleed out, what do you say? Wouldn’t take too long.”

“Please,” MacMahon sobbed. “Please…”

“Are there any left from your organization?”

“No, please, no, I don’t know anything, no one’s left, I don’t…”

He was pathetic and useless. Frank put one last bullet in his head and walked out.

“I thought you’d take your time.”

“He wasn’t worth it.”

She handed him a jerrycan and they poured gas all around and on the cabin before watching it burn. One little match, and it had gone up in flames.

“Matt will know.”

“Of course.”

“I had to.”

“Yes.”

The cabin collapsed, and Frank hoped the asshole he’d just killed would go burn in the hell he probably hadn’t even believed him. If it existed, then Frank might see him there again.

“Let’s leave,” he said, and he turned his back on the fire.

Elektra disappeared into the night and he drove back to the shelter on his own, his thoughts swirling. Maybe he’d go to St. Agnes in the morning.

Sister Maggie took one good look at him before going straight into the kitchen. She pointed at a chair then busied herself with the coffee maker, and she didn’t say a word until they were both sitting at the table, each holding a steaming cup of doctored joe and Lucy quiet and watchful in a corner.

“I’m glad to see you back on your feet, although that long face isn’t really telling me good things.”

He looked down into his coffee. What was he supposed to say? _I killed the former priest and your son is going to dump me?_ No.

She studied him for a while. “Are you any good with electricity?”

“As long as you don’t want anything fancy, yeah.”

“Nothing fancy, just something that works. There’s a storage room we’d like to turn into a playroom, but we need more sockets, the safe kind, and good lighting and heating.”

“Okay.”

She didn’t ask, but her gimlet eyes made him want to squirm like a little boy who’d been naughty. He hadn’t been naughty, exactly.

“I killed MacMahon,” he finally said.

“Ah.” Her hand briefly touched the cross around her neck. “Does Matthew know?”

“No, don’t think so; happened last night. He will soon enough.”

“You seem particularly troubled.”

He stared at her. “I killed a man. A priest.”

“Well, he wasn’t a priest, but that doesn’t change anything. He’s not the first man you’ve ever killed; why would it be affecting you now?”

“Shouldn’t it?” She picked up her mug and watched him over the rim.

“Absolutely. But you were trained to do that; what’s new then?”

“You know what.”

“Matthew knows you by now, doesn't he? He’s fully aware of who you are and what you do.”

He knew Frank killed, sure. But not priests, not people who’d taken Matt’s confession and given him communion. Fuck, even if he hadn’t been an actual priest… “And you? How can you let me be around those kids?”

“Are you planning on killing them too?”

“No!”

“Well then.” She put her coffee down. “Will you kill again?”

“Yeah.” He hadn’t come to lie to her.

“Frank. I pray for you and I know Matthew does too; we pray that you let God into your heart, or at least that you find peace. I also pray for him to one day leave violence behind because I fear for his soul as well as his body. I am…” She cleared her voice. “I gave birth to him and I abandoned him. I ask myself what life he’d have now, if I hadn’t. I wonder if he’d have gone down the same path, if he’d have chosen to be Daredevil as well as a lawyer. Too many things would be different, if I had stayed. But we can’t change the past, only strive to do better in the present, with the weight of what we did and what was done to us. God is our only judge, in the end.”

“Can’t say I’m doing better, if we go by your morals. I won’t stop. I’m not feeling remorse.”

“But?”

But he was selfish. He couldn't have let MacMahon live, but he didn’t want Red to tell him it was too much, that it was the last straw. Even if he wasn’t the Punisher full-time, he wasn’t about to hang up the vest any time soon.

“Show me the room you want me to work on,” he said instead.

She gave him a knowing look but didn’t push it, and he spent the day in St. Agnes apart from a couple quick trips to the hardware store. Lucy had become the orphanage mascot by this point, so he let the nuns and kids take care of her; he figured she was being showered with attention and having the time of her life while he was doing his best to empty his mind. He didn’t want to think about how he couldn’t be true to both himself and Matt’s ideals, how he couldn’t reconcile Red’s values with his own will to get rid of some assholes for good. Frank had never been one for half-measures, never believed people could fundamentally change. The core was the core and sometimes it was rotten, even if the rot wasn’t visible at first.

Maybe that was true for him too.

“Maggie says you’ve been at it since this morning.”

The drywall trowel made a loud bang when Frank dropped it. “Uh, sorry. Didn’t hear you.”

Matt’s lips quirked up. “Clearly. Want to call it a day? I think even Lucy wants to go home now.”

“Home. Yeah.” He hadn’t heard about MacMahon, then; if he had, he wouldn’t be asking Frank to come _home_. Well, Frank could at least take all his things from the apartment before he left for good.

“We can get some pho from that place that opened last month, what do you say?”

“Uh, yeah. Sure.” He started scraping the trowel clean and making sure all the tools would be ready for use when he came back – if he ever did – and if he didn’t they’d be ready for whoever would finish the job. Probably not him.

But then Matt stopped him with a hand on his wrist, and Frank looked up. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

“Not nothing.” Red wrapped his fists around his cane and frowned. “Is it about last night?”

Shit. “Matt…”

“Brett called, told me about a body found under a bridge. Dental records confirmed the ID.” He sat down right against Frank. “You know they were looking for him, right? Elektra was after the Hand, and I was after the traffickers, including as an attorney. Turned out Vanessa Fisk coughed up names, including Fath… I mean. Including MacMahon.”

“I didn't kill him because he was Hand.”

“I know.”

“How can you…” Frank didn’t know how to finish that question, so he didn’t.

“I don’t like it. I don’t approve of it. But… it’s you. You don’t like it when I leave damp clothes in the washer, do you?”

“Not the same thing.”

“Maybe not, but it’s not for me to judge. I know why you do what you do; I understand it. We don’t have to agree on everything.”

“Pretty big thing, that.”

Matt was quiet for a while. “Yeah, but.”

“But?”

“There are other, bigger things.”

“Like what?”

“Like…” He sighed, then shifted even closer to Frank so he could twine their fingers together and rest his head on Frank's shoulder. “Like my being selfish. I’m not giving you up. I tried, but I couldn’t, even when I thought God would punish us both for it.”

“You believe in God.”

“I do. I believe in God, but the Church is only people. He, not the Church, will judge us in the end.”

“Like mother like son, huh.”

“Hm?”

“Your – Maggie said something like that too.”

“Yes, well.”

“I don’t think your God’s gonna like me.”

Matt put his palm over Frank’s heart. “He will look at this and see that what you do comes from here.”

“You’re projecting, Red.”

“Mostly, I’m hungry and I want to go home. With you.”

Ah, shit. “You're a sweet talker, yeah?”

“You know I am. I’ll go get Lucy, okay?”

Frank grunted in agreement; he didn’t trust himself to talk right then. Matt got up and left Frank to tidy up the room, and if it gave him the bit of privacy he needed to get his face under control all the better. He took a quick detour to a bathroom to wash his hands and face and make sure he didn’t look too blotchy; he didn’t want to scare the kids if he met any.

Maggie was with Matt when he found them, Lucy sitting at attention and her one ear turned in his direction.

“Ready to go?” Matt asked.

“Yeah.”

They left the church and orphanage behind and walked home, Matt’s hand tucked in Frank’s elbow and Lucy trotting at their side. They stopped for takeout, fought over the last piece of candied ginger, washed dishes together. Frank went into the shower to try and get rid of all the drywall dust in his hair and beard, and Matt joined him, naked but still wearing that crucifix around his neck.

“I’m not going out tonight,” he said.

“You sure?”

And, fine, that kiss was answer enough. Not all the good things in Frank’s life had to end, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Some warnings:  
> Elektra is back.  
> Evil priest.  
> Internalized homophobia.  
> (unwarranted) jealousy.


End file.
